The day of your departure, my dear aunt, I went as you desired to Madame de Limours. In the morning she was denied to me; but in the evening she gave me admittance. I found her a little angry, but more grieved. She wept on seeing me, and then gave a loose to complaints against you; and treated me with a coolness, the cause of which I easily penetrated, and which was nothing more than an impulse of jealousy, occasioned by the idea of my having been entrusted with the secret, you had so carefully concealed from her. I could have said to her, ‘How, my dear Madam, was it possible that my aunt, my benefactress, my mother, that she, to whom I owe my education, my establishment, almost my existence, could have any reserves with her child, or could fear from me, either the objections or the oppositions she dreaded from you?’ But I happily recalled to my mind one of your maxims, which forbids our making use of reason to oppose ill humour, and I remained silent. I dined yesterday at her house, and found her nearly in the same temper. She had many people with her; and I perceived several of her visitors endeavoured to irritate her against you, my dear aunt, by repeating with ill nature, how ‘incredible and inconceivable it was, that you should not have imparted your secret to her:’ this has given such a wound to her self-love, that at this moment you must not expect your letters will have that effect on her which you hope for. But her heart is so good, she loves you so tenderly, and has so much frankness and vivacity in her disposition, that it is impossible she should long retain these disagreeable impressions.

Mons. d’ Ostalis does not go to his regiment till the first of June: and I shall set out the same day for Languedoc.