We arrived at B—, my dear friend, all in good health. My boy and girl, at six and seven years old, bore their journey perfectly well; and as they slept as easy in the carriage, as in their beds, are infinitely less fatigued than I was myself. This country is charming, though I am not yet acquainted with its environs; yet the delightful views which may be seen from the castle, are sufficient to give me an idea of them. Every thing here puts on a plain and humble appearance; I have left pomp and magnificence behind me at Paris, in that large and disagreeable house we lived, and which was always so displeasing to me. I at length find myself lodged according to my taste and my wishes. My little Adelaide too is charmed with this country, and our habitation. She says she likes instructive pictures much better than damask hangings, and that ‘the Sun of Languedoc is brighter than that of Paris.’ As I conclude my dear friend is at this time a little displeased with me, I shall reserve my more particular accounts and descriptions for the happy moment of reconciliation. When you have read my heart, I dare believe, far from condemning me, you will approve every step I have taken. Consider, though you may be permitted to quarrel with your friend, when in the space of five minutes you can ask her pardon, you have no longer that privilege when she is at the distance of two hundred leagues. Besides, what crime have I been guilty of more than concealing a secret from you, which was not my own to divulge? Mons. d’ Almane positively forbid my trusting you with it. But do you not remember the last time we supped together? In truth, you might have guessed from my melancholy, from my tenderness, what it was impossible to acquaint you with! Adieu, my dear friend! I shall expect your answer with the utmost impatience, for I cannot be happy, whilst I think you are displeased with me.