Apropos of men of distinguished merit, M. de la Rochefoucauld has
just sent me word that he would like to call on me. I fixed to-morrow,
and you might do well to be present, but do not forget how much he
loves you. Adieu.




XVIII

When a Woman Is Loved She Need Not Be Told of It


I have been engaged in some new reflections on the condition you are
in, Marquis, and on the embarrassment in which you continue. After
all, why do you deem it necessary to make a formal declaration of
love? Can it be because you have read about such things in our old
romances, in which the proceedings in courtship were as solemn as
those of the tribunals? That would be too technical. Believe me, let
it alone; as I told you in my last letter, the fire lighted, will
acquire greater force every day, and you will see, that without having
said you love, you will be farther advanced than if you were
frightened by avowals which our fathers insisted should worry the
women. Avowals absolutely useless in themselves, and which always
incumber a passion with several nebulous days. They retard its
progress. Bear this well in mind, Marquis: A woman is much better
persuaded that she is loved by what she guesses than by what she is
told.