Cecilia Volanges _to the_ Chevalier Danceny.
(_Annexed to the former._)
How happens it, my dear friend, I no longer see you; although I never
cease wishing for it? Your inclinations then, are no longer like
mine! Ah, it is now I am truly sorrowful! More so, than when we were
totally separate. The affliction I was used to receive from others, now
proceeds from you, which is more insupportable.
For some days past, mama is never at home, and you know it—I flattered
myself you would have taken the opportunity; but you do not at all
think of me—I am very unhappy—How often have you told me, I did not
love as much as you did—I was certain it was otherwise, and am now
convinced. Had you called, you might have seen me; for I am not like
you; I think of nothing but how to contrive to see you—You deserve I
should not tell you all I have done: but I love you so much, and have
so strong a desire to see you, I can’t help telling you, and then I
shall see if you really love me.
I have secured the porter, and he has promised every time you come no
one shall see you; and we may confide in him, for he is a very honest
man. There is then no other difficulty to prevent any one in the house
seeing you, and that will be very easy to do; it is only to come at
night; then there will be no danger at all—for since mama goes out
every day, she always goes to bed at eleven; so that we shall have a
great deal of time.
The porter told me when you had a mind to come this way, instead
of knocking at the door, you need only tap at the window, and he
would open the door directly, and then you can readily find the
_back-stairs_—As you will not have any light, I will leave my chamber
door open, which will give you some little. You must take great care
not to make any noise, particularly passing by mama’s little door.
As to my waiting maid’s room, it is of no signification, for she has
promised me not to be awake; and she is also a very good girl! When you
are going away it will be the same thing—Now we shall see whether you
will come.
O, Lord! I don’t know why my heart beats so while I am writing to you!
Is it the fore-runner of any misfortune, or is it the hope of seeing
you that makes me thus? This I know, I never loved you so much, and
never so much wished to tell you so. Come, then, my dear, dear friend,
that I may a thousand times repeat I love you—I adore you, and never
will love any but you.
I found a method to inform M. de Valmont I wanted to see him, and
had something to say to him; and as he is our very good friend, will
come to-morrow certainly. I will beg of him to give you my letter
immediately—That I shall expect you to-morrow night, and you will
not fail to come, if you have not a mind to make your Cecilia very
miserable.
Adieu, my dear friend! I embrace you with all my heart.
_Paris, Dec._ 4, 17—.