My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it.  She kindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of my plan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner, and placed me at table by her side.  Less than this would have turned my brain; I became mad.  She permitted me to visit her, and I abused the permission.  I went to see her almost every day, and dined with her twice or thrice a week.  I burned with inclination to speak, but never dared attempt it.  Several circumstances increased my natural timidity.  Permission to visit in an opulent family was a door open to fortune, and in my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of shutting it against myself.

Madam Dupin, amiable as she was, was serious and unanimated; I found nothing in her manners sufficiently alluring to embolden me.  Her house, at that time, as brilliant as any other in Paris, was frequented by societies the less numerous, as the persons by whom they were composed were chosen on account of some distinguished merit.  She was fond of seeing every one who had claims to a marked superiority; the great men of letters, and fine women.  No person was seen in her circle but dukes, ambassadors, and blue ribbons.  The Princess of Rohan, the Countess of Forcalquier, Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey, passed for her intimate friends.  The Abbes de Fontenelle, de Saint Pierre, and Saltier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Berms, M. de Buffon, and M. de Voltaire, were of her circle and her dinners.  If her reserved manner did not attract many young people, her society inspired the greater awe, as it was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques had no reason to flatter himself he should be able to take a distinguished part in the midst of such superior talents.  I therefore had not courage to speak; but no longer able to contain myself, I took a resolution to write.  For the first two days she said not a word to me upon the subject.  On the third day, she returned me my letter, accompanying it with a few exhortations which froze my blood.  I attempted to speak, but my words expired upon my lips; my sudden passion was extinguished with my hopes, and after a declaration in form I continued to live with her upon the same terms as before, without so much as speaking to her even by the language of the eyes.

I thought my folly was forgotten, but I was deceived.  M. de Francueil, son to M. Dupin, and son-in-law to Madam Dupin, was much the same with herself and me.  He had wit, a good person, and might have pretensions.  This was said to be the case, and probably proceeded from his mother-in-law’s having given him an ugly wife of a mild disposition, with whom, as well as with her husband, she lived upon the best of terms.  M. de Francueil was fond of talents in others, and cultivated those he possessed.  Music, which he understood very well, was a means of producing a connection between us.  I frequently