you, and that my ceasing to love you would give you but a slight

concern, after you had first forsaken me; I found it was
necessary you should love me, to feel the smart of not being

loved, which I so severelyexperienced myself; I was of opinion
that if anything could rekindle that flame, it would be to let

you see that mine was extinguished, but to let you see it through
an endeavour to conceal it from you, as if I wanted the power to

acknowledge it to you: this resolution I adhered to; I found it
difficult to take, and when I saw you again I thought it

impossible to execute. I was ready a hundred times to break out
into tears and complaints; my ill state of health, which still

continued, served as a disguise to hide from you the affliction
and trouble I was in; afterward I was supported by the pleasure

of dissembling with you, as you had done with me; however it was
doing so apparent a violence to myself to tell you or to write to

you that I loved you, that you immediately perceived I had no
mind to let you see my affection was altered; you was touched

with this, you complained of it; I endeavoured to remove your
fears, but it was done in so forced a manner, that you were still

more convinced by it, I no longer loved you; in short, I did all
I intended to do. The fantasticalness of your heart was such,

that you advanced towards me in proportion as you saw I retreated
from you. I have enjoyed all the pleasure which can arise from

revenge; I plainly saw, that you loved me more than you had ever
done, and I showed you I had no longer any love for you. I had

even reason to believe that you had entirely abandoned her, for
whom you had forsaken me; I had ground too to be satisfied you

had never spoken to her concerning me; but neither your
discretion in that particular, nor the return of your affection

can make amends for your inconstancy; your heart has been divided
between me and another, and you have deceived me; this is

sufficient wholly to take from me the pleasure I found in being
loved by you, as I thought I deserved to be, and to confirm me in

the resolution I have taken never to see you more, which you are
so much surprised at.

Madam de Cleves read this letter, and read it over again several
times, without knowing at the same time what she had read; she

saw only that the Duke de Nemours did not love her as she
imagined and that he loved others who were no less deceived by

him than she. What a discovery was this for a person in her
condition, who had a violentpassion, who had just given marks of

it to a man whom she judged unworthy of it, and to another whom
she used ill for his sake! Never was affliction so cutting as

hers; she imputed the piercingness of it to what had happened
that day, and believed that if the Duke de Nemours had not had

ground to believe she loved him she should not have cared whether
he loved another or not; but she deceived herself, and this evil

which she found so insupportable was jealousy with all the
horrors it can be accompanied with. This letter discovered to

her a piece of gallantry the Duke de Nemours had been long
engaged in; she saw the lady who wrote it was a person of wit and

merit, and deserved to be loved; she found she had more courage
than herself, and envied her the power she had had of concealing

her sentiments from the Duke de Nemours; by the close of the
letter, she saw this lady thought herself beloved, and presently

suspected that the discretion the Duke had showed in his
addresses to her, and which she had been so much taken with, was

only an effect of his passion for this other mistress, whom he
was afraid of disobliging; in short, she thought of everything

that could add to her grief and despair. What reflections did
she not make on herself, and on the advices her mother had given

her I how did she repent, that she had not persisted in her
resolution of retiring, though against the will of Monsieur de

Cleves, or that she had not pursued her intentions of
acknowledging to him the inclination she had for the Duke of

Nemours! She was convinced, she would have done better to
discover it to a husband, whose goodness she was sensible of, and

whose interest it would have been to conceal it, than to let it
appear to a man who was unworthy of it, who deceived her, who

perhaps made a sacrifice of her, and who had no view in being
loved by her but to gratify his pride and vanity; in a word, she

found, that all the calamities that could befall her, and all the
extremities she could be reduced to, were less than that single

one of having discovered to the Duke de Nemours that she loved
him, and of knowing that he loved another: all her comfort was to

think, that after the knowledge of this she had nothing more to
fear from herself, and that she should be entirely eased of the

inclination she had for the Duke.
She never thought of the orders the Queen-Dauphin had given her,

to come to her when she went to rest: she went to bed herself,
and pretended to be ill; so that when Monsieur de Cleves came

home from the King, they told him she was asleep. But she was
far from that tranquillity which inclines to sleep; all the night

she did nothing but torment herself, and read over and over the
letter in her hand.

Madam de Cleves was not the only person whom this letter
disturbed. The Viscount de Chartres, who had lost it and not the

Duke de Nemours, was in the utmost inquietude about it. He had
been that evening with the Duke of Guise, who had given a great

entertainment to the Duke of Ferrara his brother-in-law, and to
all the young people of the Court: it happened that the discourse

turned upon ingenious letters; and the Viscount de Chartres said
he had one about him the finest that ever was writ: they urged

him to show it, and on his excusing himself, the Duke de Nemours
insisted he had no such letter, and that what he said was only

out of vanity; the Viscount made him answer, that he urged his
discretion to the utmost, that nevertheless he would not show the

letter; but he would read some parts of it, which would make it
appear few men received the like. Having said this, he would

have taken out the letter, but could not find it; he searched for
it to no purpose. The company rallied him about it; but he

seemed so disturbed, that they forbore to speak further of it; he
withdrew sooner than the others, and went home with great

impatience, to see if he had not left the letter there. While he
was looking for it, one of the Queen's pages came to tell him,

that the Viscountess d'Usez had thought it necessary to give him
speedy advice, that it was said at the Queen's Court, that he had

dropped a letter of gallantry out of his pocket while he was
playing at tennis; that great part of what the letter contained

had been related" target="_blank" title="a.叙述的；有联系的">related, that the Queen had expressed a great curiosity
to see it, and had sent to one of her gentlemen for it, but that

he answered, he had given it to Chatelart.
The page added many other particulars which heightened the

Viscount's concern; he went out that minute to go to a gentleman
who was an intimate friend of Chatelart's; and though it was a

very unseasonable hour, made him get out of bed to go and fetch
the letter, without letting him know who it was had sent for it,

or who had lost it. Chatelart, who was prepossessed with an
opinion that it belonged to the Duke of Nemours, and that the

Duke was in love with the Queen-Dauphin, did not doubt but it was
he who had sent to redemand it, and so answered with a malicious

sort of joy, that he had put the letter into the Queen-Dauphin's
hands. The gentleman brought this answer back to the Viscount de

Chartres, which increased the uneasiness he was under already,
and added new vexations to it: after having continued some time