I began to write, and I had not concluded my long screed before the dawn of day; here are, word by word, the contents of the letter which I wrote to the noblest of women, whom in my unreasonable spite I had judged so wrongly.

“I plead guilty, madam; I cannot possibly justify myself, and I am perfectly convinced of your innocence.  I should be disconsolate if I did not hope to obtain pardon, and you will not refuse to forgive me if you are kind enough to recollect the cause of my guilt.  I saw you; I was dazzled, and I could not realize a happiness which seemed to me a dream; I thought myself the prey of one of those delightful illusions which vanish when we wake up.  The doubt under which I was labouring could not be cleared up for twenty-four hours, and how could I express my feverish impatience as I was longing for that happy moment!  It came at last! and my heart, throbbing with desire and hope, was flying towards you while I was in the parlour counting the minutes!  Yet an hour passed almost rapidly, and not unnaturally, considering my impatience and the deep impression I felt at the idea of seeing you.  But then, precisely at the very moment when I believed myself certain that I was going to gaze upon the beloved features which had been in one interview indelibly engraved upon my heart, I saw the most disagreeable face appear, and a creature announced that you were engaged for the whole day, and without giving me time to utter one word she disappeared!  You may imagine my astonishment and... the rest.  The lightning would not have produced upon me a more rapid, a more terrible effect!  If you had sent me a line by that sister—­a line from your hand—­I would have gone away, if not pleased, at least submissive and resigned.

“But that was a fourth fatality which you have forgotten to add to your delightful and witty justification.  Thinking myself scoffed at, my self-love rebelled, and indignation for the moment silenced love.  Shame overwhelmed me!  I thought that everybody could read on my face all the horror in my heart, and I saw in you, under the outward appearance of an angel, nothing but a fearful daughter of the Prince of Darkness.  My mind was thoroughly upset, and at the end of eleven days I lost the small portion of good sense that was left in me—­at least I must suppose so, as it is then that I wrote to you the letter of which you have so good a right to complain, and which at that time seemed to me a masterpiece of moderation.

“But I hope it is all over now, and this very day at eleven o’clock you will see me at your feet—­tender, submissive and repentant.  You will forgive me, divine woman, or I will myself avenge you for the insult I have hurled at you.  The only thing which I dare to ask from you as a great favour is to burn my first letter, and never to mention it again.  I sent it only after I had written four, which I destroyed one after the other:  you may therefore imagine the state of my heart.