The moment I saw her everything was repaired; all I felt in her presence was the importunity of an inexhaustible and useless ardor.

Upon the road to Raubonne there was a pleasant terrace called Mont Olympe, at which we sometimes met.

I arrived first, it was proper I should wait for her; but how dear this waiting cost me! To divert my attention, I endeavored to write with my pencil billets, which I could have written with the purest drops of my blood; I never could finish one which was eligible.

When she found a note in the niche upon which we had agreed, all she learned from the contents was the deplorable state in which I was when I wrote it.

This state and its continuation, during three months of irritation and self-denial, so exhausted me, that I was several years before I recovered from it, and at the end of these it left me an ailment which I shall carry with me, or which will carry me to the grave.