find one.  Whatever his design might be, were this inimical to me, his situation facilitated the execution of it without its being possible for me in mine to oppose the least obstacle.  In favor in the house of a great prince, having an extensive acquaintance, and giving the tone to common circles of which he was the oracle, he had it in his power, with his usual address, to dispose everything in his favor; and I, alone in my Hermitage, far removed from all society, without the benefit of advice, and having no communication with the world, had nothing to do but to remain in peace.  All I did was to write to Madam d’Epinay upon the illness of her son, as polite a letter as could be written, but in which I did not fall into the snare of offering to accompany her to Geneva.

After waiting for a long time in the most cruel uncertainty, into which that barbarous man had plunged me, I learned, at the expiration of eight or ten days, that Madam d’Epinay was setoff, and received from him a second letter.  It contained not more than seven or eight lines which I did not entirely read.  It was a rupture, but in such terms as the most infernal hatred only can dictate, and these became unmeaning by the excessive degree of acrimony with which he wished to charge them.  He forbade me his presence as he would have forbidden me his states.  All that was wanting to his letter to make it laughable, was to be read over with coolness.  Without taking a copy of it, or reading the whole of the contents, I returned it him immediately, accompanied by the following note: 

“I refused to admit the force of the just reasons I had of suspicion:  I now, when it is too late, am become sufficiently acquainted with your character.

“This then is the letter upon which you took time to meditate:  I return it to you, it is not for me.  You may show mine to the whole world and hate me openly; this on your part will be a falsehood the less.”

My telling he might show my preceding letter related to an article in his by which his profound address throughout the whole affair will be judged of.

I have observed that my letter might inculpate me in the eyes of persons unacquainted with the particulars of what had passed.  This he was delighted to discover; but how was he to take advantage of it without exposing himself?  By showing the letter he ran the risk of being reproached with abusing the confidence of his friend.

To relieve himself from this embarrassment he resolved to break with me in the most violent manner possible, and to set forth in his letter the favor he did me in not showing mine.  He was certain that in my indignation and anger I should refuse his feigned discretion, and permit him to show my letter to everybody; this was what he wished for, and everything turned out as he expected it would.  He sent my letter all over Paris, with his own commentaries upon it, which, however, were not so successful as he had expected