Your letter, mylord, fills me with gratitude and admiration. It would
indeed be joy for me to gain happiness under the auspices of so generous
a friend, and to procure from his kindness the contentment that fortune
has denied me.
But could contentment ever be granted to me if I had the consciousness
of having pitilessly abandoned those who gave me birth? I am their only
living child; all their pleasure, all their hope is in me. Can I deliver
up their closing days to shame, regrets, and tears? No, mylord,
happiness could not be bought at such a price. I dare brave all the
sorrows that await me here; remorse I dare not brave.