persuaded that it is not the work of reflection. She sees it only from
the point of view of a passion, outwardly constrained, making stronger
impressions and still greater progress inwardly. Let it have an
opportunity to take deep root, and give to this fire she tries to
hide, time to consume the heart in which you wish to confine it.

You must also admit, Marquis, that you deceive yourself in two ways
in your calculation. You thought you respected the Countess more than
the Chevalier does, on the contrary you see that the gallant speeches
of the Chevalier are without effect, while you begrudge them to the
heart of your beauty. On the other hand, you figure that her
preoccupied air, indifferent and inattentive manner are proofs or
forewarnings of your unhappiness. Undeceive yourself. There is no more
certain proof of a passion than the efforts made to hide it. In a
word, when the Countess treats you kindly, whatever proofs you may
give her of your affection, when she sees you without alarm on the
point of confessing your love, I tell you that her heart is caught;
she loves you, on my word.

By the way, I forgot to reply to that part of your letter concerning
myself. Yes, Marquis, I constantly follow the method which I
prescribed at the commencement of our correspondence. There are few
matters in my letters that I have not used as subjects of conversation
in my social reunions. I rarely suggest ideas of any importance to
you, without having taken the opinions of my friends on their verity.
Sometimes it is Monsieur de la Bruyère, sometimes Monsieur de
Saint-Evremond whom I consult; another time it will be Monsieur l'Abbé
de Châteauneuf. You must admire my good faith, Marquis, for I might
claim the credit of the good I write you, but I frankly avow that you
owe it only to the people whom I receive at my house.