I had with me some books necessary to this purpose; I had spent two months in making extracts from others, I had borrowed from the king’s library, whence I was permitted to take several to the Hermitage.  I was thus provided with materials for composing in my apartment when the weather did not permit me to go out, and my copying fatigued me.  This arrangement was so convenient that it made it turn to advantage as well at the Hermitage as at Montmorency, and afterwards even at Motiers, where I completed the work whilst I was engaged in others, and constantly found a change of occupation to be a real relaxation.

During a considerable time I exactly followed the distribution I had prescribed myself, and found it very agreeable; but as soon as the fine weather brought Madam d’Epinay more frequently to Epinay, or to the Chervette, I found that attentions, in the first instance natural to me, but which I had not considered in my scheme, considerably deranged my projects.  I have already observed that Madam d’Epinay had many amiable qualities; she sincerely loved her friends; served them with zeal; and, not sparing for them either time or pains, certainly deserved on their part every attention in return.  I had hitherto discharged this duty without considering it as one, but at length I found that I had given myself a chain of which nothing but friendship prevented me from feeling the weight, and this was still aggravated by my dislike to numerous societies.  Madam d’ Epinay took advantage of these circumstances to make me a proposition seemingly agreeable to me, but which was more so to herself; this was to let me know when she was alone, or had but little company.  I consented, without perceiving to what a degree I engaged myself.  The consequence was that I no longer visited her at my own hour —­but at hers, and that I never was certain of being master of myself for a day together.  This constraint considerably diminished the pleasure I had in going to see her.  I found the liberty she had so frequently promised was given me upon no other condition than that of my never enjoying it; and once or twice when I wished to do this there were so many messages, notes, and alarms relative to my health, that I perceived that I could have no excuse but being confined to my bed, for not immediately running to her upon the first intimation.  It was necessary I should submit to this yoke, and I did it, even more voluntarily than could be expected from so great an enemy to dependence:  the sincere attachment I had to Madam D’Epinay preventing me, in a great measure, from feeling the inconvenience with which it was accompanied.  She, on her part, filled up, well or ill, the void which the absence of her usual circle left in her amusements.  This for her was but a very slender supplement, although preferable to absolute solitude, which she could not support.  She had the means of doing it much more at her ease after she began with literature, and at all events to write novels,