Cecilia Volanges _to_ Sophia Carnay.
I have yet no news for my dear friend. Mamma had a great deal of
company at supper last night. Notwithstanding the strong inclination I
had to make my observations, especially among the men, I was far from
being entertained. The whole company could not keep their eyes from me;
they whispered; I could observe plainly they were speaking of me, and
that made me blush; I could not help it: I wish I could; for I observed
when any one looked at the other ladies they did not blush, or the
rouge they put on prevented their blushes from being seen. It must be
very difficult not to change countenance when a man fixes his eyes on
you.
What gave me the most uneasiness was, not to know what they thought
of me; however, I think I heard the word pretty two or three times:
but I’m sure I very distinctly heard that of awkward; and that must be
very true, for she that said so is a relation, and an intimate friend
of Mamma’s. She seems even to have taken a sudden liking to me. She
was the only person who took a little notice of me the whole evening.
I also heard a man after supper, who I am sure was speaking of me, say
to another, “We must let it ripen, we shall see this winter.” Perhaps
he is to be my husband; but if so, I have still to wait four months! I
wish I knew how it is to be.
Here’s Josephine, and she says she is in haste. I must, however, tell
you one of my awkward tricks—Oh, I believe that lady was right.
After supper, they all sat down to cards. I sat next Mamma. I don’t
know how it happened, but I fell asleep immediately. A loud laugh
awoke me. I don’t know whether I was the object of it; but I believe I
was. Mamma gave me leave to retire, which pleas’d me much. Only think,
it was then past eleven! Adieu, my dear Sophy! continue to love thy
Cecilia, I assure you the world is not so pleasing as we used to think
it.
_Paris, Aug._ 4, 17—.