Precisely at the same time I received a second unforeseen visit from Madam d’Houdetot, in the absence of her husband, who was captain of the Gendarmarie, and of her lover, who was also in the service.  She had come to Eaubonne, in the middle of the Valley of Montmorency, where she had taken a pretty house, from thence she made a new excursion to the Hermitage.  She came on horseback, and dressed in men’s clothes.  Although I am not very fond of this kind of masquerade, I was struck with the romantic appearance she made, and, for once, it was with love.  As this was the first and only time in all my life, the consequence of which will forever render it terrible to my remembrance, I must take the permission to enter into some particulars on the subject.

The Countess d’Houdetot was nearly thirty years of age, and not handsome; her face was marked with the smallpox, her complexion coarse, she was short-sighted, and her eyes were rather round; but she had fine long black hair, which hung down in natural curls below her waist; her figure was agreeable, and she was at once both awkward and graceful in her motions; her wit was natural and pleasing; to this gayety, heedlessness and ingenuousness were perfectly suited:  she abounded in charming sallies, after which she so little sought, that they sometimes escaped her lips in spite of herself.  She possessed several agreeable talents, played the harpsichord, danced well, and wrote pleasing poetry.  Her character was angelic—­this was founded upon a sweetness of mind, and except prudence and fortitude, contained in it every virtue.  She was besides so much to be depended upon in all intercourse, so faithful in society, even her enemies were not under the necessity of concealing from her their secrets.  I mean by her enemies the men, or rather the women, by whom she was not beloved; for as to herself she had not a heart capable of hatred, and I am of opinion this conformity with mine greatly contributed towards inspiring me with a passion for her.  In confidence of the most intimate friendship, I never heard her speak ill of persons who were absent, nor even of her sister-in-law.  She could neither conceal her thoughts from anyone, nor disguise any of her sentiments, and I am persuaded she spoke of her lover to her husband, as she spoke of him to her friends and acquaintances, and to everybody without distinction of persons.  What proved, beyond all manner of doubt, the purity and sincerity of her nature was, that subject to very extraordinary absences of mind, and the most laughable inconsiderateness, she was often guilty of some very imprudent ones with respect to herself, but never in the least offensive to any person whatsoever.