Genoa.

You have at last decisively broken the treaty of marriage proposed by Madame d’ Olcy. I cannot say, that I am sorry for it; for I still adhere to the project, which I have communicated to you. Let us now come to particulars with regard to the Chevalier de Valmont; and let us see how we can preserve him from some of the dangers, which will surround him this winter. I have already said, if he quits you, he is lost; if you follow him against his will, you will be of no service to him. Confidence is your only tie upon him. A young man, naturally well disposed, ought to feel that kind of attachment to a person, whose wisdom and experience he is acquainted with; of whom he thinks himself beloved, and whom he has been accustomed from his infancy to consult. And yet very few fathers, very few preceptors know how to inspire this confidence into their sons and pupils. I have sought the reason, and believe I have found it. There are two sorts of confidence: the one founded on esteem, and the necessity of sometimes consulting, in matters of importance, a person more knowing and experienced than oneself: the other comes from the heart, and from a conformity of opinions and sentiments. This kind of confidence we repose in a man disinterestedly, and without having need of his advice; we find an inexpressible pleasure in talking with him of whatever is uppermost in our thoughts, of whatever amuses us; in telling him the little secret of the moment, and in throwing off all disguise before him, and appearing what we really are. The first sort of confidence is more flattering; the second more engaging. The one without the other always leaves friendship feeble and imperfect; but both of them united form those deep and durable attachments, which nothing can destroy, and of which so few examples are to be found.