....

I must tell you, my dearest friend, that for some days past I have been
very much upset, and am scarcely now fairly on my feet again, in
consequence of becoming suddenly aware of a painful indiscretion
committed by an affectionate and generous woman. I refer to Miss
Mitford's account of me in her new book.[10] We heard of it in a strange
way, through M. Philaret Chasles, of the College de France, beginning a
course of lectures on English literature, and announcing an extended
notice of E.B.B., 'the veil from whose private life had lately been
raised by Miss Mitford.' Somebody who happened to be present told us of
it, and while we were wondering and uncomfortable, up came a writer in
the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' to consult Robert upon a difficulty he was
in. He was engaged, he said, upon an article relating to me, and the
proprietors of the review had sent him a number of the 'Athenaeum,' which
contained an extract from Miss M.'s book, desiring him to make use of
the biographical details. Now it struck him immediately, he said, on
reading the passage, that it was likely to give me great pain, and he
was so unwilling to be the means of giving me more pain that he came to
Robert to ask him how he should act. Do observe the delicacy and
sensibility of this man--a man, a foreigner, a Frenchman! I shall be
grateful to him as long as I live.[11]

Robert has seen the extract in the 'Athenaeum.' It refers to the great
affliction of my life, with the most affectionate intentions and the
obtusest understanding. I know I am morbid, but this thing should not
have been done indeed. Now, I shall be liable to see recollections
dreadful to me, thrust into every vulgar notice of my books. I shall be
afraid to see my books reviewed anywhere. Oh! I have been so deeply
shaken by all this. _You_ will understand, I am certain, and I could not
help speaking of it to you, because I was certain.

I am answering your note, observe, by return of post. Do let me know if
you receive what I write this time. Robert will direct for me, having
faith in his superior legibleness, and I accept the insult implied in
the opinion.

God bless you. Do write. And never doubt my grateful affection for you,
whether posts go ill or well.

Robert is going out to inquire about 'My Novel.' His warm regards with
mine to dear Mr. Martin and yourself. This is a scratch rather than a
letter, but I would rather send it to you in haste than wait for another
post.