Sept. 3, 17—. _____
LETTER LIII.
VISCOUNT DE VALMONT to the MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL. _____
I saw Danceny, and only obtained a half-confidence from him; he is tenacious in concealing the name of the little Volanges, and spoke of her as of a very discreet person, and something inclined to devotion.
As to the rest, he related his adventure with tolerable propriety, especially the last event.
I heated his imagination as much as I could, and ridiculed his scrupulous delicacy; but he is still the same, and I cannot depend upon him: I shall be able to tell you more of him after to-morrow.
We go to-morrow to Versailles, and shall endeavour to dive into him by the way.
The interview that was to take place to-day gives me some hopes: perhaps every thing succeeded to our wishes; and perhaps nothing now remains but to extract the confession, and gather the proofs.
This business will be easier for you to perform than me, for the little thing is more open, or, which is the same thing, more silly then her discreet lover; notwithstanding, I'll do my best.
Adieu, my lovely friend!
I have a great deal of employment on my hands.
I will neither see you this night nor to-morrow: but if you come to the knowledge of any thing, let me have a line at my return.
I shall certainly sleep in Paris.
Sept. 3, 17—. _____
LETTER LIV.
The MARCHIONESS DE MERTEUIL to the VISCOUNT DE VALMONT. _____
Yes, to be sure, Danceny is a very proper person to get any thing out of.
If he has said any thing to you, he is a braggart.
I do not know such a fool in love matters, and I reproach myself more and more for the pains we take for him.
Do you know, I had like to be exposed on his account, and for no purpose whatever?
Oh! I shall be revenged, I assure him.
When I called yesterday on Madame de Volanges, she had altered her mind; she would not go out; she said she was indisposed, and I was forced to make use of all my eloquence to bring her to a resolution; and the moment was drawing near that Danceny would have arrived before we set out; which would have been so much the more awkward, as Madame de Volanges had told him the evening before, she would not be at home: her daughter and I were upon thorns.
At length we set out; and the little thing squeezed my hand so affectionately, bidding me adieu, that in spite of her project for a rupture, which she was seriously engaged in, I prognosticated wonders from the evening's amusement.
But my uneasiness was not to end thus.
We were scarcely half an hour at Madame de ——'s, when Madame de Volanges was really taken ill, and wanted to return home: but I, who was afraid that we should surprise the young people, as there was every reason to dread, took the resolution to alarm her on the score of her health, which fortunately is not very difficult, and detained her an hour and a half without consenting to bring her back, lest the motion of the carriage should be prejudicial to her.
At length we returned at the hour agreed on.
By the bashful look I observed at our arrival, I own I thought that, at least, our labour was not lost.
The strong inclination that I had to be satisfied, made me remain with Madame de Volanges, who immediately went to bed; and after having supped by her bedside, we came away soon, in order to leave her to her repose, and went into her daughter's apartment.
She, on her part, did every thing I expected from her; scruples fled, new oaths of constancy, &c. &c. but that blockhead Danceny did not advance a step farther than he was before.
One can quarrel with him safely, for the reconciliation would not be difficult; the little thing, however, says, that he wanted farther advantages, but she knew how to defend herself: I would venture, however, to lay a wager, that she brags, or, at least, excuses him, and I am even almost certain of it.
I took it into my head, to know what defence she was capable of making; and from question to question, I warmed her imagination to such a degree—in short, you may believe me, there never was a person more susceptible of a sensitive surprise than she is.
This little dear creature is truly amiable; she deserves a better lover; she, at least, shall have a good friend, for I am most sincerely attached to her.
I have promised to model her, and I believe I'll keep my word.
I have often perceived the want of a female confident, and I would rather have her than any other; but I can't make any thing of her, until she is—what she must be; that is one more reason for being angry with Danceny.
Farewell, Viscount; do not come to my house to-morrow, unless it be in the morning.
I have acquiesced to the pressing invitations of the Chevalier for a night at the villa.
Sept. 4, 17—. _____
LETTER LV.
CECILIA VOLANGES to SOPHIA CARNAY. _____
You were in the right, my dear Sophy; thy prophesies are more successful than thy advice.
Danceny, as you predicted, has been stronger than my confessor, than you, or even myself; we are just as we were before.
I am not sorry for it; and if thou art, and that you scorn me, it is because you are a stranger to the pleasure I have in loving Danceny.
It is easy to lay down rules how we should act; but if you had ever experienced the distress we feel for those we love, how we participate in his joys, how difficult it is to say no, when we wish to say yes, you would no longer be astonished: I who have already sensibly felt it, cannot as yet conceive it.
Now, can you believe that I can see Danceny cry, without crying myself?
That, I assure you, is impossible; and when he is pleased, I am happy; it is in vain to talk about it; what is, must be, and I am sure it is so.
I wish you were in my room;—but that is not what I mean to say; for certainly I would not give place to any one: but I wish you were in love with somebody; it is not only that you should understand me better, but that you should have less reason to find fault; but also that you should be happier, or, rather, that you should begin to taste of happiness.
Our amusements, our trifles, and all that, is folly; but in love, a word, a look only, is the summit of happiness.
When I see Danceny, I wish for nothing more: when he is from me, I wish for nothing but him.
I cannot account for it: but I imagine that every thing that pleases me, bears a resemblance to him.
When he is absent from me, I dream of him; and when I can think of him without being disturbed, that is, when I am alone, I am happy.