I have received your letter by General Vernon, and another, to which I
have writ an answer, but was disappointed of a conveyance I expected.
You shall have it with additions, by the first messenger that goes; but
I cannot send it by the post, as I have spoken very freely of some
persons you name, in which we agree thoroughly. These few lines are only
to tell you I am not idle in writing to you.

I almost repent having come hither; for I like the way of life and many
of the people so well, that I doubt I shall feel more regret at leaving
Paris than I expected. It would sound vain to tell you the honours and
distinctions I receive, and how much I am in fashion; yet when they come
from the handsomest women in France, and the most respectable in point
of character, can one help being a little proud? If I was twenty years
younger, I should wish they were not quite so respectable. Madame de
Brionne, whom I have never seen, and who was to have met me at supper
last night at the charming Madame d'Egmont's, sent me an invitation by
the latter for Wednesday next. I was engaged, and hesitated. I was told,
"Comment! savez-vous que c'est qu'elle ne feroit pas pour toute la
France?" However, lest you should dread my returning a perfect old
swain, I study my wrinkles, compare myself and my limbs to every plate
of larks I see, and treat my understanding with at least as little
mercy. Yet, do you know, my present fame is owing to a very trifling
composition, but which has made incredible noise. I was one evening at
Madame Geoffrin's joking on Rousseau's affectations and contradictions,
and said some things that diverted them. When I came home, I put them
into a letter, and showed it next day to Helvetius and the Duc de
Nivernois; who were so pleased with it, that after telling me some
faults in the language, which you may be sure there were, they
encouraged me to let it be seen. As you know I willingly laugh at
mountebanks, _political_ or literary, let their talents be ever so