you had an engagement for the day.  Yet all these were to be sacrificed, that you might dine together.  Lying messengers were to be despatched into every quarter of the city, with apologies for your breach of engagement.  You, particularly, had the effrontery to send word to the Duchess Danville, that on the moment we were setting out to dine with her, despatches came to hand, which required immediate attention.  You wanted me to invent a more ingenious excuse; but I knew you were getting into a scrape, and I would have nothing to do with it.  Well; after dinner to St. Cloud, from St. Cloud to Ruggieri’s, from Ruggieri’s to Krumfoltz; and if the day had been as long as a Lapland summer day, you would still have contrived means among you to have filled it.

Heart.  Oh! my dear friend, how you have revived me, by recalling to mind the transactions of that day!  How well I remember them all, and that when I came home at night, and looked back to the morning, it seemed to have been a month agone.  Go on, then, like a kind comforter, and paint to me the day we went to St. Germains.  How beautiful was every object! the Port de Reuilly, the hills along the Seine, the rainbows of the machine of Marly, the terras of St. Germains, the chateaux, the gardens, the statues of Marly, the pavillion of Lucienne.  Recollect, too, Madrid, Bagatelle, the King’s garden, the Desert.  How grand the idea excited by the remains of such a column.  The spiral staircase, too, was beautiful.  Every moment was filled with something agreeable.  The wheels of time moved on with a rapidity, of which those of our carriage gave but a faint idea.  And yet, in the evening, when one took a retrospect of the day, what a mass of happiness had we travelled over!  Retrace all those scenes to me, my good companion, and I will forgive the unkindness with which you were chiding me.  The day we went to St. Germains was a little too warm, I think; was it not?

Head.  Thou art the most incorrigible of all the beings that ever sinned!  I reminded you of the follies of the first day, intending to deduce from thence some useful lessons for you, but instead of listening to them, you kindle at the recollection, you retrace the whole series with a fondness, which shows you want nothing but the opportunity, to act it over again.  I often told you, during its course, that you were imprudently engaging your affections, under circumstances that must cost you a great deal of pain; that the persons, indeed, were of the greatest merit, possessing good sense, good humor, honest hearts, honest manners, and eminence in a lovely art; that the lady had, moreover, qualities and accomplishments belonging to her sex, which might form a chapter apart for her; such as music, modesty, beauty, and that softness of disposition, which is the ornament of her sex, and charm of ours:  but that all these considerations would increase the pang of separation, that their stay here was to be short; that you rack our whole system when you are parted from those you love, complaining that such a separation is worse than death, inasmuch as this ends our sufferings, whereas that only begins them; and that the separation would, in this instance, be the more severe, as you, would probably never see them again.