that he will be vanquished that he is goaded into fighting with
courage? Did you not notice that the woman who did the talking as I
have related in my last letter, had a personal interest in maintaining
her system? It is true, that when we examine her reasoning according
to the rules of philosophy, it does seem to be a trifle specious, but
it is to be feared that in permitting ourselves to reason in that
fashion on what virtue is, we may succeed in converting into a
problem, the rules we should receive and observe as a law, which it is
a crime to construe. Moreover, to persuade women that it is not to
themselves they are indebted for the virtue they possess, might it mot
deprive them of the most powerful motive to induce them to preserve
it? I mean by that, the persuasion that it is their own work they
defend. The consequences of such morality would be discouraging, and
tend to diminish, in the eyes of a guilty woman, the importance of her
errors. But let us turn to matters of more interest to you.

At last, after so many uncertainties, after so many revolutions in
your imagination, you are sure you are loved? You have finally
succeeded in exciting the Countess to divulge her secret during a
moment of tenderness. The words you burned to hear have been
pronounced. More, she has allowed to escape her, a thousand
involuntary proofs of the passion you have inspired. Far from
diminishing your love, the certainty that you are beloved in return
has increased it; in a word, you are the happiest of men. If you knew
with how much pleasure I share your happiness you would be still
happier. The first sacrifice she desired to make was to refuse to
receive the Chevalier: you were opposed to her making it, and you were
quite right. It would have compromised the Countess for nothing, which
calls to my mind the fact, that women generally lose more by
imprudence than by actual faults. The confidence you so nobly