Cecilia Volanges _to the_ Chevalier Danceny.
(_Wrote with a pencil, and re-copied by Danceny._)
You desire to know how I spend my time? I love you, and am always
crying. My mother speaks to me no longer; she has taken away my paper,
pens, and ink; I now make use of a pencil, which I fortunately had
in my pocket, and I write this on the back of your letter. I must
certainly approve of whatever you have done; I love you too well, not
to use every means to hear from you, and give you some account of
myself. I did not use to love Mr. de Valmont; I did not think him to
be so much your friend; I will endeavour to accustom myself to him, and
I will love him on your account. I cannot tell who betrayed us; it must
be either my waiting-maid or my confessor. I am very unhappy: to-morrow
we set out for the country, and I do not know for how long a time. Good
God, not to see you any more! I have no more room, adieu! Endeavour to
read this. Those letters, wrote with a pencil, will, perhaps, rub out;
but the sentiments engraved on my heart never will.
_Sept._. 10, 17—.