and found it charming to gratify them in security of conscience.  My yet inexperienced heart gave in to all with the calm happiness of a child, or rather (if I dare use the expression) with the raptures of an angel; for in reality these pure delights are as serene as those of paradise.  Dinners on the grass at Montagnole, suppers in our arbor, gathering in the fruits, the vintage, a social meeting with our neighbors; all these were so many holidays, in which Madam de Warrens took as much pleasure as myself.  Solitary walks afforded yet purer pleasure, because in them our hearts expanded with greater freedom:  one particularly remains in my memory; it was on a St. Louis’ day, whose name Madam de Warrens bore:  we set out together early and unattended, after having heard a mass at break of day in a chapel adjoining our house, from a Carmelite, who attended for that purpose.  As I proposed walking over the hills opposite our dwelling, which we had not yet visited, we sent our provisions on before; the excursion being to last the whole day.  Madam de Warrens, though rather corpulent, did not walk ill, and we rambled from hill to hill and wood to wood, sometimes in the sun, but oftener in the shade, resting from time to time, and regardless how the hours stole away; speaking of ourselves, of our union, of the gentleness of our fate, and offering up prayers for its duration, which were never heard.  Everything conspired to augment our happiness:  it had rained for several days previous to this, there was no dust, the brooks were full and rapid, a gentle breeze agitated the leaves, the air was pure, the horizon free from clouds, serenity reigned in the sky as in our hearts.  Our dinner was prepared at a peasant’s house, and shared with him and his family, whose benedictions we received.  These poor Savoyards are the worthiest of people!  After dinner we regained the shade, and while I was picking up bits of dried sticks, to boil our coffee, Madam de Warrens amused herself with herbalizing among the bushes, and with the flowers I had gathered for her in my way.  She made me remark in their construction a thousand natural beauties, which greatly amused me, and which ought to have given me a taste for botany; but the time was not yet come, and my attention was arrested by too many other studies.  Besides this, an idea struck me, which diverted my thoughts from flowers and plants:  the situation of my mind at that moment, all that we had said or done that day, every object that had struck me, brought to my remembrance the kind of waking dream I had at Annecy seven or eight years before, and which I have given an account of in its place.  The similarity was so striking that it affected me even to tears:  in a transport of tenderness I embraced Madam de Warrens.  “My dearest friend,” said I, “this day has long since been promised me:  I can see nothing beyond it:  my happiness, by your means, is at its height; may it never decrease; may it continue as long as I am sensible of its value-then it can only finish with my life.”