This scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my poor head, I became
confused, my senses wandered; in short, I was violently smitten by Madam
Dupin.

My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it. She
kindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of my
plan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner,
and placed me at table by her side. Less than this would have turned my
brain; I became mad. She permitted me to visit her, and I abused the
permission. I went to see her almost every day, and dined with her twice
or thrice a week. I burned with inclination to speak, but never dared
attempt it. Several circumstances increased my natural timidity.
Permission to visit in an opulent family was a door open to fortune, and
in my situation I was unwilling to run the risk of shutting it against
myself.

Madam Dupin, amiable as she was, was serious and unanimated; I found
nothing in her manners sufficiently alluring to embolden me. Her house,
at that time, as brilliant as any other in Paris, was frequented by
societies the less numerous, as the persons by whom they were composed
were chosen on account of some distinguished merit. She was fond of
seeing every one who had claims to a marked superiority; the great men of
letters, and fine women. No person was seen in her circle but dukes,
ambassadors, and blue ribbons. The Princess of Rohan, the Countess of
Forcalquier, Madam de Mirepoix, Madam de Brignole, and Lady Hervey,
passed for her intimate friends. The Abbes de Fontenelle, de Saint
Pierre, and Saltier, M. de Fourmont, M. de Berms, M. de Buffon, and M. de
Voltaire, were of her circle and her dinners. If her reserved manner did
not attract many young people, her society inspired the greater awe, as
it was composed of graver persons, and the poor Jean-Jacques had no