with as much truth as pride, that it was not in the power of interest or indigence, at any period of my life, to expand or contract my heart.  In the course of a painful life, memorable for its vicissitudes, frequently destitute of an asylum, and without bread, I have contemplated, with equal indifference, both opulence and misery.  In want I might have begged or stolen, as others have done, but never could feel distress at being reduced to such necessities.  Few men have grieved more than myself, few have shed so many tears; yet never did poverty, or the fear of falling into it, make me heave a sigh or moisten my eyelids.  My soul, in despite of fortune, has only been sensible of real good and evil, which did not depend on her; and frequently, when in possession of everything that could make life pleasing, I have been the most miserable of mortals.

The first glance of Madam de Warrens banished all my fears—­my heart leaped at the sound of her voice; I threw myself at her feet, and in transports of the most lively joy, pressed my lips upon her hand.  I am ignorant whether she had received any recent information of me.  I discovered but little surprise on her countenance, and no sorrow.  “Poor child!” said she, in an affectionate tone, “art thou here again?  I knew you were too young for this journey; I am very glad, however, that it did not turn out so bad as I apprehended.”  She then made me recount my history; it was not long, and I did it faithfully:  suppressing only some trifling circumstances, but on the whole neither sparing nor excusing myself.

The question was, where I could lodge:  she consulted her maid on this point—­I hardly dared to breathe during the deliberation; but when I heard I was to sleep in the house, I could scarce contain my joy; and saw the little bundle I brought with me carried into my destined apartment with much the same sensations as St. Preux saw his chaise put up at Madam de Wolmar’s.  To complete all, I had the satisfaction to find that this favor was not to be transitory; for at a moment when they thought me attentive to something else, I heard Madam de Warrens say, “They may talk as they please, but since Providence has sent him back, I am determined not to abandon him.”

Behold me, then, established at her house; not, however, that I date the happiest days of my life from this period, but this served to prepare me for them.  Though that sensibility of heart, which enables us truly to enjoy our being, is the work of Nature, and perhaps a mere effect of organization, yet it requires situations to unfold itself, and without a certain concurrence of favorable circumstances, a man born with the most acute sensibility may go out of the world without ever having been acquainted with his own temperament.  This was my case till that time, and such perhaps it might have remained had I never known Madam de Warrens, or even having known her, had I not remained with her long enough to contract