At length, my dear friend, there are no longer any hopes of our amiable Cecilia. She is nearly arrived at the end of her long sufferings, and, in a few days, will perhaps be no longer in existence. It is now two months since she has known her danger; she obliged Mons. Lambert, the Physician from Carcassonne, to inform her of the truth, at the same time forbidding him to acquaint her family with her real situation. Yesterday morning I received a note written by herself, desiring me, if possible, to come and see her immediately; I obeyed her summons, and found her alone in the castle, as Mons. d’ Aimeri and Madame de Valmont were gone to make a visit in the neighbourhood. She was seated in a great chair, for as yet she has not kept her bed a single day. I was shocked at seeing her so pale and weak; nevertheless she appeared to recover herself on seeing me, and made me sit down by her. I know, my dear Madam, said she, your sensibility; therefore allow me, before I explain myself, to assure you, that it is impossible for any body to be more perfectly happy than I am at this time … This beginning prepared me but too well for what she was going to tell me. Ah! what, cried I! … What has Mons. Lambert said to you? … I saw him this morning … Ah! what? … He has told me, I ought to bid you a last adieu … At these words some drops moistened her eye-lids; as for me, I was drowned in tears … we were a moment without speaking … at last Cecilia said, What, Madam! does my happiness afflict you? … Ah, Cecilia! interrupted I, you deceived us when you assured us you would wish to live! … No, replied she, I did not deceive you; if the Almighty had prolonged my pilgrimage, I should have submitted to his will, not only without repining, but without concern.