I asked my maid, if she knew who was with my Mamma?
"Why," says she, laughing, "it is Mr. C——."
I really believe it is he.
I will certainly return and write you the whole; however, that's his name.
I must not make them wait.
Adieu, for a moment!
How you will laugh at your poor Cecilia, my dear Sophy!
I'm quite ashamed!
But you would have been deceived as well as I.
On entering Mamma's room, I saw a gentleman in black, standing close by her, I saluted him as well as I could, and remained motionless.
You may guess, I examined him from head to foot.
"Madam," said he to Mamma, "this is a most charming young lady, and I am extremely sensible of your goodness."
So positive a declaration made me tremble all over; and not being able to support me, I threw myself in an armed chair, quite red and disconcerted.
In an instant he was at my knees, and then you may judge how poor Cecilia's head was bewildered; I instantly started up and shrieked, just as on the day of the great thunder.
Mamma burst out laughing, saying,
"Well, what's the matter?
Sit down, and give Mr. —— your foot."
Thus, my dear friend, Mr. —— turns out to be my shoemaker.
You can't conceive how much I was ashamed; happily, there was no one but Mamma present.
I am, however, resolved when I am married he shall not be my shoemaker.
Well! am I not now much the wiser?
Farewell! it is almost six, and my maid says it is time to dress.
Adieu! my dear Sophy; I love you as much as I did at the convent.
P. S.
I don't know whom to send with this, and shall wait till Josephine calls.
Paris, Aug. 3, 17—.
_____ LETTER II.
The MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL to the VISCOUNT VALMONT, at the Castle of ——. _____
Return, my dear Viscount, return!
How can you think of idling your days with an old aunt, whose fortune is already settled on you!
Set out the moment you receive this letter, for I want you much.
A most enchanting idea has just struck me, and I wish to confide the execution of it to you.
This hint should be sufficient, and you should think yourself so highly honoured by my choice, as to fly to receive my orders on your knees: but my favours are thrown away on one who no longer sets a value on them; and you presume upon my kindness, where the alternative must be eternal hatred, or excessive indulgence.
I will acquaint you with my scheme; but you, like a true knight errant, must first swear to undertake no other adventure until this is achieved.
It is worthy a hero. You will at once satiate love and revenge.
It will be an additional exploit to your memoirs; yes, your memoirs, for I will have them published, and I will undertake the task.
But to return to what more immediately concerns us.
Madame de Volanges intends to marry her daughter: it is yet a secret; but she yesterday informed me of it.
And whom do you think she has chosen for her son-in-law?
Count Gercourt.
Who could have thought I should have been allied to Gercourt?
I am provoked beyond expression at your stupidity!
Well, don't you guess yet?
Oh, thou essence of dulness!
What, have you then pardoned him the affair of Madame the Intendante?
And I, monster![1] have I not more reason for revenge? But I shall resume my temper; the prospect of retaliation, recalls my serenity. [1] To understand this passage, it must be remarked, that the Count de Gercourt had quitted the Marchioness de Merteuil for the Intendante de ——, who had on his account abandoned the Viscount de Valmont, and that then the attachment of the Marchioness to the Viscount commenced.
As that adventure was long antecedent to the events which are the subject of these letters, it has been thought better to suppress the whole of that correspondence.
You and I have been often tormented with the important idea framed by Gercourt, of the lady he intended honour with his hand, and his ridiculous presumption of being exempt from the unavoidable fate of married men.
You know his foolish prepossessions in favour of conventual education, and his still more weak prejudices for women of a fair complexion: and I really believe, notwithstanding Volanges' sixty thousand livres a year, he never would have thought of this girl, had she not been black eyed, or not educated in a convent.
Let us convince him, he is a most egregious fool, as one day or other he must be: but that's not the business; the jest will be, should he act upon so absurd an opinion.