Nothing can describe the anguish I felt on account of the misfortunes of my friend.

My wretched imagination, which always sees everything in the worst light, was terrified.

I imagined him to be confined for the remainder of his life.

I was almost distracted with the thought.

I wrote to Madam de Pompadour, beseeching her to release him or obtain an order to shut me up in the same dungeon.