When it shall be known, that after having done everything, braved everything, not to separate from her; that after passing with her twenty years in despite of fate and men; I have in my old age made her my wife, without the least expectation or solicitation on her part, or promise or engagement on mine, the world will think that love bordering upon madness, having from the first moment turned my head, led me by degrees to the last act of extravagance; and this will no longer appear doubtful when the strong and particular reasons which should forever have prevented me from taking such a step are made known.  What, therefore, will the reader think when I shall have told him, with all the truth he has ever found in me, that, from the first moment in which I saw her, until that wherein I write, I have never felt the least love for her, that I never desired to possess her more than I did to possess Madam de Warrens, and that the physical wants which were satisfied with her person were, to me, solely those of the sex, and by no means proceeding from the individual?  He will think that, being of a constitution different from that of other men, I was incapable of love, since this was not one of the sentiments which attached me to women the most dear to my heart.  Patience, O my dear reader! the fatal moment approaches in which you will be but too much undeceived.

I fall into repetitions; I know it; and these are necessary.  The first of my wants, the greatest, strongest and most insatiable, was wholly in my heart; the want of an intimate connection, and as intimate as it could possibly be:  for this reason especially, a woman was more necessary to me than a man, a female rather than a male friend.  This singular want was such that the closest corporal union was not sufficient:  two souls would have been necessary to me in the same body, without which I always felt a void.  I thought I was upon the point of filling it up forever.  This young person, amiable by a thousand excellent qualities, and at that time by her form, without the shadow of art or coquetry, would have confined within herself my whole existence, could hers, as I had hoped it would, have been totally confined to me.  I had nothing to fear from men; I am certain of being the only man she ever really loved and her moderate passions seldom wanted another not even after I ceased in this respect to be one to her.  I had no family; she had one; and this family was composed of individuals whose dispositions were so different from mine, that I could never make it my own.  This was the first cause of my unhappiness.  What would I not have given to be the child of her mother?  I did everything in my power to become so, but could never succeed.  I in vain attempted to unite all our interests:  this was impossible.  She always created herself one different from mine, contrary to it, and to that even of her daughter, which already was no longer separated from it.  She, her other children, and grand-children,