I have allowed your first hours of grief to pass in silence. I was in no
condition to give details, nor you to receive them. Now I may write, and
you may read.

We were on a visit to the castle of Chillon, guests of the bailli of
Vevay. After dinner the whole party walked on the ramparts, and our
youngest son slipped and fell into the deep water. Julie plunged in
after him. Both were rescued; the child was soon brought round, but
Julie's state was critical. When she had recovered a little, she was
taken back to Clarens. The doctor told her she had but three days to
live. She spent those three days in perfect cheerfulness and
tranquillity of spirit, conversing with Madame D'Orbe, the pastor, and
myself, expressing her content that her life should end at a time when
she had attained complete happiness. On the fourth morning we found her
lifeless.

During the three days she wrote a letter, which I enclose. Fulfil her
last requests. There yet remains much for you to do on earth.


FROM JULIE TO SAINT PREUX

All is changed, my dear friend; let us suffer the change without a
murmur. It was not well for us that we should rejoin each other.

For it was an illusion that my love for you was cured; now, in the
presence of death, I know that I still love you. I avow this without
shame, for I have done my duty. My virtue is without stain, my love
without remorse.