reproach me.

Whatever infidelities you may have been guilty of, whatever care I
have been able to take to persuade her that you have been entirely
forgotten, she has never ceased to love you tenderly. Although she has
sought to punish you by an assumed indifference, she has never thought
of depriving herself of the pleasure of seeing you, and it has been
through the complaisance of the Countess that I have sometimes worried
you; it was to goad you into visiting me more frequently. But all
these schemes have not been able to satisfy a heart so deeply wounded,
and she is on the point of executing a design I have all along been
opposed to. You will learn all about it by reading the letter she
wrote me yesterday, and which I inclose in this.

FROM THE COUNTESS TO MADEMOISELLE DE L'ENCLOS.

"If you wish to remain my friend, my dear Ninon, cease to combat my
resolution; you know it is not the inspiration of the moment. It is
not the fruit of a momentary mortification, an imprudent vexation, nor
despair. I have never concealed it from you. The possession of the
heart of the Marquis de Sevigne might have been my supreme felicity if
I could have flattered myself with having it forever. I was certain of
losing it if I had granted him the favors he exacted of me. His
inconstancy has taught me that a different conduct would not be a sure
means of retaining a lover. I must renounce love forever, since men
are incapable of having a liaison with a woman, as tender, but as pure
as that of simple friendship.

"You, yourself, well know that I am not sufficiently cured to see the
Marquis without always suffering. Flight is the only remedy for my
malady, and that is what I am about to take. I do not fear, moreover,
what the world may say about my withdrawal to the country. I have
cautioned those who might be surprised. It is known that I have won in
a considerable action against the heirs of my late husband. I have
given out that I am going to take possession of the estate awarded me.
I will thus deprive the public of the satisfaction of misinterpreting
my taste for solitude, and the Marquis of all suspicion that he is in
any manner to blame for it. I inclose his letters and his portrait.

"Good Heaven! How weak I am! Why should it cost my heart so much to
get rid of an evil so fatal to my repose? But it is done, and my
determination can not be shaken. Pity me, however, and remember, my
dear friend, the promise you gave me to