"Although younger than myself, she received my civilities
without embarrassment. I asked the cause of her journey to
Amiens, and whether she had any acquaintances in the town. She
ingenuously told me that she had been sent there by her parents,
to commence her novitiate for taking the veil. Love had so
quickened my perception, even in the short moment it had been
enthroned, that I saw in this announcement a death-blow to my
hopes. I spoke to her in a way that made her at once understand
what was passing in my mind; for she had more experience than
myself. It was against her consent that she was consigned to a
convent, doubtless to repress that inclination for pleasure which
had already become too manifest, and which caused, in the sequel,
all her misfortunes and mine. I combated the cruel intention of
her parents with all the arguments that my new-born passion and
schoolboy eloquence could suggest. She affected neither
austerity nor reserve. She told me, after a moment's silence,
that she foresaw too clearly, what her unhappy fate must be; but
that it was, apparently, the will of Heaven, since there were no
means left her to avert it. The sweetness of her look, the air
of sorrow with which she pronounced these words, or rather
perhaps the controlling destiny which led me on to ruin, allowed
me not an instant to weigh my answer. I assured her that if she
would place reliance on my honour, and on the tender interest
with which she had already inspired me, I would sacrifice my life
to deliver her from the tyranny of her parents, and to render her
happy. I have since been a thousand times astonished in
reflecting upon it, to think how I could have expressed myself
with so much boldness and facility; but love could never have
become a divinity, if he had not often worked miracles.