By the time you receive this letter, my dear Viscount, I shall be twenty leagues from Paris. I am setting off immediately with my wife and two children for four years. I have neither been able to give you an account of my intentions, nor to bid you adieu, and fearing the remonstrances and solicitations of your friendship, I have carefully concealed from you my intentions. The manner in which I now proceed, after long and deliberate reflection, is only the result of that lively tenderness, which you well know I feel for my children. It is from them I expect the happiness of my future life, and I dedicate myself entirely to their education. I shall perhaps appear to the world to make a great and painful sacrifice: I shall also be accused of singularity and caprice, and indeed with reason. I cannot in this letter lay open to you all my ideas. They are too numerous and extensive. When I arrive at B—, I shall write you all the particulars, which you have a right to expect from my confidence and friendship. Be assured, my dear Viscount, that I shall not lose sight of the delightful project we have formed, and which ought to draw still closer the bonds which unite us. Removing my son in his infancy from the examples of vice, in becoming his governor and his friend, am I not working for you as well as for myself? Since it is virtue alone can render him worthy the happiness you design for him. Farewell, dear Viscount: let me hear from you; be not too hasty in judging me, and above all do not condemn me, before you know all the motives which may influence my conduct. My wife is writing to yours a long letter: but knowing so well the Viscountess, she fears her vivacity, and entreats you to moderate its effects as much as possible. We are only in fear of her first letter, as we are sure time and reflection will not fail to justify us.