This change in one who had formerly been characterized by all the exuberances of soul, could not fail to be remarked by my friends.

My brother was always a pattern of solemnity.

My sister was clay, moulded by the circumstances in which she happened to be placed.

There was but one whose deportment remains to be described as being of importance to our happiness.

Had Pleyel likewise dismissed his vivacity?
He was as whimsical and jestful as ever, but he was not happy.