The first step was taken on my part when I realised that I was ignorant
and savage, and I applied to the Abbé Aubert, the chaplain, whose
offices I had hitherto despised, to instruct me. I learnt quickly, and
soon vanity at my rapid progress became the bane of my life.

With Edmée I was so passionately in love that jealousy would awaken the
old brutality that I thought dead, and I would gladly have killed de la
Marche in a duel. Then after an outburst remorse would overtake me.

My cousin at last told me plainly that while she would be true to her
word, and not marry anyone before me, she would not marry me, and that
on her father's death a convent should be her refuge. I knew my
boorishness was responsible for this, and resolved to leave her.

Lafayette was taking out volunteers to help the United States in their
war of independence. I told him I would go with him, and crossed hastily
into Spain, whence he was going to sail to America.

I left a note to my uncle, and wrote to Edmée that, as far as I was
concerned, she was free, and that, while I would not thwart a wish of
hers, it was impossible for me to witness a rival's triumph.

Before we sailed came the following reply from Edmée:

"You have done well, Bernard. Go where honour and love of truth call
you. Return when your mission is accomplished; you will find me neither
married nor in a convent."

I cannot describe the American war. I stayed till peace was declared,
and then chafing at my long absence from France, for I was away six