rder in a great abbey near Paris, where
I have masters of all kinds, who teach me, among other things, history,
geography, grammar, mathematics, and riding on horseback. But I have
so little capacity for all these sciences, that I fear I shall make but
small progress with my masters. I feel that I am a very poor creature,
with very little ability to learn what they teach. My aunt's kindness,
however, does not decrease. She gives me new dresses every season; and
she had placed two waiting women with me, who are dressed like fine
ladies. She has made me take the title of countess; but has obliged me
to renounce the name of LA TOUR, which is as dear to me as it is to you,
from all you have told me of the sufferings my father endured in order
to marry you. She has given me in place of your name that of your
family, which is also dear to me, because it was your name when a girl.
Seeing myself in so splendid a situation, I implored her to let me send
you something to assist you. But how shall I repeat her answer! Yet you
have desired me always to tell you the truth. She told me then that
a little would be of no use to you, and that a great deal would only
encumber you in the simple life you led. As you know I could not write,
I endeavoured upon my arrival, to send you tidings of myself by another
hand; but, finding no person here in whom I could place confidence, I
applied night and day to learn to read and write, and Heaven, who saw my
motive for learning, no doubt assisted my endeavours, for I succeeded in
both in a short time. I entrusted my first letters to some of the ladies
here, who, I have reason to think, carried them to my aunt. This time I
have recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I send you her direction,
by means of which I shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid me
holding any correspondence whatever, with any one, lest, she says, it
should occasion an obstacle to the great views she has for my advantage.
No person is allowed to see me at the grate but herself, and an old
nobleman, one of her friends, who, she says is much pleased with me.
I am sure I am not at all so with him, nor should I, even if it were
possible for me to be pleased with any one at present.

"I live in all the splendour of affluence, and have not a sous at
my disposal. They say I might make an improper use of money. Even my
clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, who quarrel about them before I
have left them off. In the midst of ri