How deeply your letter moved me; above all, when I compare our widely
different destinies! How brilliant is the world you are entering, how
peaceful the retreat where I shall end my modest career!

In the Castle of Maucombe, which is so well known to you by
description that I shall say no more of it, I found my room almost
exactly as I left it; only now I can enjoy the splendid view it gives
of the Gemenos valley, which my childish eyes used to see without
comprehending. A fortnight after my arrival, my father and mother took
me, along with my two brothers, to dine with one of our neighbors, M.
de l'Estorade, an old gentleman of good family, who has made himself
rich, after the provincial fashion, by scraping and paring.

M. de l'Estorade was unable to save his only son from the clutches of
Bonaparte; after successfully eluding the conscription, he was forced
to send him to the army in 1813, to join the Emperor's bodyguard.
After Leipsic no more was heard of him. M. de Montriveau, whom the
father interviewed in 1814, declared that he had seen him taken by the
Russians. Mme. de l'Estorade died of grief whilst a vain search was
being made in Russia. The Baron, a very pious old man, practised that
fine theological virtue which we used to cultivate at Blois--Hope!
Hope made him see his son in dreams. He hoarded his income for him,
and guarded carefully the portion of inheritance which fell to him
from the family of the late Mme. de l'Estorade, no one venturing to
ridicule the old man.

At last it dawned upon me that the unexpected return of this son was
the cause of my own. Who could have imagined, whilst fancy was leading
us a giddy dance, that my destined husband was slowly traveling on
foot through Russia, Poland, and Germany? His bad luck only forsook