I enter; all is
quiet; the laborers are eating their luncheon in the kitchen, and far
from observing any preparation, the servants seem surprised to see me,
not knowing I was expected. I go up--stairs, at length see her!--that
dear friend! so tenderly, truly, and entirely beloved. I instantly ran
towards her, and threw myself at her feet. "Ah! child!" said she, "art
thou returned then!" embracing me at the same time. "Have you had a
good journey? How do you do?" This reception amused me for some
moments. I then asked, whether she had received my letter? she answered
"Yes."--"I should have thought not," replied I; and the information
concluded there. A young man was with her at this time. I recollected
having seen him in the house before my departure, but at present he
seemed established there; in short, he was so; I found my place already
supplied!

This young man came from the country of Vaud; his father, named
Vintzenried, was keeper of the prison, or, as he expressed himself,
Captain of the Castle of Chillon. This son of the captain was a
journeyman peruke-maker, and gained his living in that capacity when he
first presented himself to Madam de Warrens, who received him kindly, as
she did all comers, particularly those from her own country. He was a
tall, fair, silly youth; well enough made, with an unmeaning face, and a
mind of the same description, speaking always like the beau in a comedy,
and mingling the manners and customs of his former situation with a long
history of his gallantry and success; naming, according to his account,
not above half the marchionesses who had favored him and pretending never
to have dressed the head of a pretty woman, without having likewise
decorated her husband's; vain, foolish, ignorant and insolent; such was
the worthy substitute taken in my absence, and the companion offered me
on my return!

O! if souls disengaged from their terrestrial bonds, yet view from the
bosom of eternal light what passes here below, pardon, dear and
respectable shade, that I show no more favor to your failings than my
own, but equally unveil both. I ought and will be just to you as to
myself; but how much less will you lose by this resolution than I shall!
How much do your amiable and gentle disposition, your inexhaustible
goodness of heart, your frankness and other amiable virtues, compensate
for your foibles, if a subversion of reason alone can be called such.
You had errors, but not