“I understand perfectly well,” I said, “that each of the thirteen cantons has its own government.”

“I daresay you do,” he replied, “but what you don’t understand any more than I do is, that there is a canton which has four separate governments.”

I had an excellent supper with fourteen or fifteen senators.  There were no jokes, no frivolous conversation, and no literature; but law, the commonweal, commerce, political economy, speculation, love of country, and the duty of preferring liberty to life, in abundance.

I felt as if I were in a new element, but I enjoyed the privilege of being a man amidst men who were all in honour to our common humanity.  But as the supper went on, these rigid republicans began to expand, the discourse became less measured, there were even some bursts of laughter, owing to the wine.  I excited their pity, and though they praised sobriety they thought mine excessive.  However, they respected my liberty, and did not oblige me to drink, as the Russians, Swedes, Poles, and most northern peoples do.

We parted at midnight—­a very late hour in Switzerland, and as they wished me a good night, each of them made me a sincere offer of his friendship.  One of the company at an early period of the supper, before he had begun to get mellow, had condemned the Venetian Republic for banishing the Grisons, but on his intellect being enlightened by Bacchus he made his apologies.

“Every government,” said he, “ought to know its own interests better than strangers, and everybody should be allowed to do what he wills with his own.”

When I got home I found my housekeeper lying in my bed.  I gave her a hundred caresses in witness of my joy, and I assured her practically of my love and gratitude.  I considered her as my wife, we cherished each other, and did not allow the thought of separating to enter our minds.  When two lovers love each other in all freedom, the idea of parting seems impossible.

Next morning I got a letter from the worthy Madame d’Urfe, who begged me to call on Madame de la Saone, wife of a friend of hers—­a lieutenant-general.  This lady had come to Berne in the hope of getting cured of a disease which had disfigured her in an incredible manner.  Madame de la Saone was immediately introduced to all the best society in the place.  She gave a supper every day, only asking men; she had an excellent cook.  She had given notice that she would pay no calls, and she was quite right.  I hastened to make my bow to her; but, good Heavens! what a terrible and melancholy sight did I behold!

I saw a woman dressed with the utmost elegance, reclining voluptuously upon a couch.  As soon as she saw me she arose, gave me a most gracious reception, and going back to her couch invited me to sit beside her.  She doubtless noticed my surprise, but being probably accustomed to the impression which the first sight of her created, she talked on in the most friendly manner, and by so doing diminished my aversion.