At present my head and memory are become so weak as to render me almost incapable of every kind of application:  my present undertaking is the result of constraint, and a heart full of sorrow.  I have nothing to treat of but misfortunes, treacheries, perfidies, and circumstances equally afflicting.  I would give the world, could I bury in the obscurity of time, every thing I have to say, and which, in spite of myself, I am obliged to relate.  I am, at the same time, under the necessity of being mysterious and subtle, of endeavoring to impose and of descending to things the most foreign to my nature.  The ceiling under which I write has eyes; the walls of my chamber have ears.  Surrounded by spies and by vigilant and malevolent inspectors, disturbed, and my attention diverted, I hastily commit to paper a few broken sentences, which I have scarcely time to read, and still less to correct.  I know that, notwithstanding the barriers which are multiplied around me, my enemies are afraid truth should escape by some little opening.  What means can I take to introduce it to the world?  This, however, I attempt with but few hopes of success.  The reader will judge whether or not such a situation furnishes the means of agreeable descriptions, or of giving them a seductive coloring!  I therefore inform such as may undertake to read this work, that nothing can secure them from weariness in the prosecution of their task, unless it be the desire of becoming more fully acquainted with a man whom they already know, and a sincere love of justice and truth.

In my first part I brought down my narrative to my departure with infinite regret from Paris, leaving my heart at Charmettes, and, there building my last castle in the air, intending some day to return to the feet of mamma, restored to herself, with the treasures I should have acquired, and depending upon my system of music as upon a certain fortune.

I made some stay at Lyons to visit my acquaintance, procure letters of recommendation to Paris, and to sell my books of geometry which I had brought with me.  I was well received by all whom I knew.  M. and Madam de Malby seemed pleased to see me again, and several times invited me to dinner.  At their house I became acquainted with the Abbe de Malby, as I had already done with the Abbe de Condillac, both of whom were on a visit to their brother.  The Abbe de Malby gave me letters to Paris; among others, one to M. de Pontenelle, and another to the Comte de Caylus.  These were very agreeable acquaintances, especially the first, to whose friendship for me his death only put a period, and from whom, in our private conversations, I received advice which I ought to have more exactly followed.