I thought who would come to first; for my part, if he had stayed away for ever, I would not have suffered papa to invite him to Silleri:  it was easy to see his neglect was all pique; it would have been extraordinary indeed if such a woman as Madame La Brosse could have rivalled me:  I am something younger; and, if either my glass or the men are to be believed, as handsome:  entre nous, there is some little difference; if she was not so very fair, she would be absolutely ugly; and these very fair women, you know, Lucy, are always insipid; she is the taste of no man breathing, though eternally making advances to every man; without spirit, fire, understanding, vivacity, or any quality capable of making amends for the mediocrity of her charms.

Her insolence in attempting to attach Fitzgerald is intolerable, especially when the whole province knows him to be my lover:  there is no expressing to what a degree I hate her.

The next time we meet I hope to return her impertinence on Thursday night at the governor’s; I will never forgive Fitzgerald if he takes the least notice of her.

Emily has read my letter; and says she did not think I had so much of the woman in me; insists on my being civil to Madame La Brosse, but if I am, Lucy—­

These Frenchwomen are not to be supported; they fancy vanity and assurance are to make up for the want of every other virtue; forgetting that delicacy, softness, sensibility, tenderness, are attractions to which they are strangers:  some of them here are however tolerably handsome, and have a degree of liveliness which makes them not quite insupportable.

You will call all this spite, as Emily does, so I will say no more:  only that, in order to shew her how very easy it is to be civil to a rival, I wish for the pleasure of seeing another French lady, that I could mention, at Quebec.

Good night, my dear! tell Temple, I am every thing but in love with him.

      Your faithful,
          A. Fermor.

I will however own, I encouraged Fitzgerald by a kind look.  I was so pleased at his return, that I could not keep up the farce of disdain I had projected:  in love affairs, I am afraid, we are all fools alike.

LETTER 106.

To Miss Fermor.

Saturday noon.

Come to my dressing-room, my dear; I have a thousand things to say to you:  I want to talk of my Rivers, to tell you all the weakness of my soul.

No, my dear, I cannot love him more, a passion like mine will not admit addition; from the first moment I saw him my whole soul was his:  I knew not that I was dear to him; but true genuine love is self-existent, and does not depend on being beloved:  I should have loved him even had he been attached to another.

This declaration has made me the happiest of my sex; but it has not increased, it could not increase, my tenderness:  with what softness, what diffidence, what respect, what delicacy, was this declaration made! my dear friend, he is a god, and my ardent affection for him is fully justified.