“Good Heaven!  How weak I am!  Why should it cost my heart so much to get rid of an evil so fatal to my repose?  But it is done, and my determination can not be shaken.  Pity me, however, and remember, my dear friend, the promise you gave me to make him understand that I have for him the most profound indifference.  Whoever breaks off relations with a lover in too public a manner, suggests resentment and regret at being forced to do so; it is an honest way of saying that one would ask nothing better than to be appeased.  As I have no desire to resume my relations with the Marquis, return him what I send, but in the manner agreed upon, and pray him to make a similar restitution.  You may tell him that the management of my property obliges me to leave Paris for a time, but do not speak of me first.

“I should be inconsolable at leaving you, my dear Ninon, if I did not hope that you would visit me in my solitude.  You write willingly to your friends, if you judge them by the tenderness and esteem they have for you.  In that case, you have none more worthy of that title than I. I rely, therefore, upon your letters until you come to share my retreat.  You know my sentiments for you.”

I have no advice to give you, Marquis, on what you have just read, the sole favor I expect from you is never to compromise me for the indiscretion I commit, and that the Countess shall never have any reason for not forgiving me.  All I can say to justify myself in my own eyes is, that you have loved the Countess too much for her resolution to be a matter of absolute indifference to you.  Had I been just, I would have betrayed both by leaving you in ignorance of her design.

LV

A Happy Ending

I am delighted with everything you have done, and you are charming.  Do not doubt it, your behavior, my entreaties, and better than all, love will overcome the resistance of the Countess.  Everything should conspire to determine her to accept the offer you have made of your hand.  I could even, from this time on, assure you that pride alone will resist our efforts and her own inclination.

This morning I pressed her earnestly to decide in your favor.  Her last entrenchment was the fear of new infidelities on your part.

“Reassure yourself,” said I, “in proof that the Marquis will be faithful to you, is the fact that he has been undeceived about the other women, by comparing them with her he was leaving.  Honest people permit themselves only a certain number of caprices, and the Marquis has had those which his age and position in society seemed to justify.  He yielded to them at a time when they were pardonable.  He paid tribute to the fashion by tasting of all the ridiculous things going.  Henceforth, he can be reasonable with impunity.  A man can not be expected to be amorous of his wife, but should he be, it will be pardoned him as soon as people see you.  You risk nothing, therefore, Countess; you yourself have put on the airs of a society woman, but you were too sensible not to abandon such a role; you renounced it; the Marquis imitates you.  Wherefore forget his mistakes.  Could you bear the reproach of having caused the death of so amiable a man?  It would be an act that would cry out for vengeance.”