Cecilia arrived here yesterday; I found her exactly what you described, amiable and interesting beyond all expression; and it is very true that her nephew Charles is extremely like her. The whole family are come hither to stay a week with us. I was very desirous of being present at the first interview between her and her father; and I never saw any thing which affected me more. Mons. d’ Aimeri wished for, yet dreaded the moment. He rose yesterday before day-light; and, when he came to our house, I could easily perceive by his countenance what a dreadful night he had passed. After dinner, we got into our carriage, Madame de Valmont, Mons. d’ Aimeri, and I, in order to meet Cecilia. Mons. d’ Aimeri was pale and trembling, he appeared to labour under the most cruel constraints; he avoided our looks, and seemed to wish to conceal the dreadful emotions which tore him to pieces. I saw he dreaded the impression which he feared the affecting sight of his poor victim would make upon us; and that he feared the presence of Cecilia would destroy all the compassion we had felt for him. As long as he could flatter himself with our being deeply interested for his sufferings, he spoke of them very freely; but now, having lost his hope, he endeavoured to dissemble, persuading himself that, in finding his remorse, he should conceal some part of his fault. We had scarce gone two leagues, when Madame de Valmont, on seeing a carriage, cried out, ‘Here comes my sister.’ Mons. d’ Aimeri alternately turned pale and red; and, seeing that Madame de Valmont wept, he said to her, with a very angry and tremulous voice, What, Madam, are you going to act a scene in a Tragedy? Surprized at the manner in which he spoke, and more so with the wild, fierce, and gloomy air of his countenance, Madame de Valmont wiped away her tears, without being able to account for his sudden ill humour.