philosophy, doubtless, that he tormented me for more than an hour for a
solution of the enigma. He was almost like a woman; he drew from me, by
his cat-like worrying, the history of my love. Would you believe it? I
hoped to touch his heart, but it was like speaking to the deaf. After
having listened to the end without saying a word, he muttered with his
little weak voice, '_It is pretty!_' La Carton, however, wept with me. It
is worth being a poet and a philosopher in order not to understand such
histories."

Mademoiselle de Camargo was silent; a deep silence followed, and every
look was upon her. "Speak, speak! we are all attention," said Helvetius,
"we are more worthy of hearing your story than the old philosopher, who
loved no one but himself." "After all," she replied, carried away by the
delight of her remembrance, "it will be spending a happy hour; I speak of
myself, and as for happy or unhappy hours, not many more are to pass
during my life, for I feel that I am passing away. But I do not know how
to begin; a fire flashes before my eyes; I cannot see, I am so overcome.
To begin: I was twenty.... But I shall never have the courage to read my
history aloud before so many people." "Fancy, Mademoiselle de Camargo,"
said Helvetius, "that you are reading a romance." "Well, then," said she,
"I will begin without ceremony."

"I was twenty years old. You are all aware, for the adventure caused a
great deal of scandal, you all know how the Count de Melun carried me off
one morning along with my sister Sophy. This little mad-cap, who had a
great deal of imagination, having discovered me reading a letter of the
count's, in which he spoke of his design, she swore upon her thirteen
years that he must carry her off too. I was far from conceding any such
claim. It was always taken for granted that children know nothing; but at
the opera, and in love, there are no children. The Count de Melun, by
means of a bribe, had gained over the chambermaid. I was very culpable; I
knew all, and had not informed my father. But my father wearied me
somewhat; he preached in the desert; that is to say he preached to me
about virtue. He was always talking to me about our noble descent, of our
cousin, who was a cardinal, of our uncle, who was a grand inquisitor of
the Inquisition. Vanity of vanities! all was vanity with him, while with
me all was love. I did not trouble myself about being of an illustrious
family; I was handsome, I was worshipped