“And thou also, Diderot,” exclaimed I, “unworthy friend!”

I could not, however, yet resolve to condemn him.  My weakness was known to others who might have spoken of it.  I wished to doubt, but this was soon out of my power.  Saint Lambert shortly after performed an action worthy of himself.  Knowing my manner of thinking, he judged of the state in which I must be; betrayed by one part of my friends and forsaken by the other.  He came to see me.  The first time he had not many moments to spare.  He came again.  Unfortunately, not expecting him, I was not at home.  Theresa had with him a conversation of upwards of two hours, in which they informed each other of facts of great importance to us all.  The surprise with which I learned that nobody doubted of my having lived with Madam d’Epinay, as Grimm then did, cannot be equalled, except by that of Saint Lambert, when he was convinced that the rumor was false.  He, to the great dissatisfaction of the lady, was in the same situation with myself, and the eclaircissements resulting from the conversation removed from me all regret, on account of my having broken with her forever.  Relative to Madam d’Houdetot, he mentioned several circumstances with which neither Theresa nor Madam d’Houdetot herself were acquainted; these were known to me only in the first instance, and I had never mentioned them except to Diderot, under the seal of friendship; and it was to Saint Lambert himself to whom he had chosen to communicate them.  This last step was sufficient to determine me.  I resolved to break with Diderot forever, and this without further deliberation, except on the manner of doing it; for I had perceived secret ruptures turned to my prejudice, because they left the mask of friendship in possession of my most cruel enemies.

The rules of good breeding, established in the world on this head, seem to have been dictated by a spirit of treachery and falsehood.  To appear the friend of a man when in reality we are no longer so, is to reserve to ourselves the means of doing him an injury by surprising honest men into an error.  I recollected that when the illustrious Montesquieu broke with Father de Tournemine, he immediately said to everybody:  “Listen neither to Father Tournemine nor myself, when we speak of each other, for we are no longer friends.”  This open and generous proceeding was universally applauded.  I resolved to follow the example with Diderot; but what method was I to take to publish the rupture authentically from my retreat, and yet without scandal?  I concluded on inserting in the form of a note, in my work, a passage from the book of Ecclesiasticus, which declared the rupture and even the subject of it, in terms sufficiently clear to such as were acquainted with the previous circumstances, but could signify nothing to the rest of the world.  I determined not to speak in my work of the friend whom I renounced, except with the honor always due to extinguished friendship.  The whole may be seen in the work itself.