other expedients: I wrote a most elaborate letter, where, mingling all
the flowers of rhetoric which I had borrowed from books with the phrases
of an apprentice, I endeavored to strike the attention, and insure the
good will of Madam de Warrens. I enclosed M. de Pontverre's letter in my
own and waited on the lady with a heart palpitating with fear and
expectation. It was Palm Sunday, of the year 1728; I was informed she
was that moment gone to church; I hasten after her, overtake, and speak
to her.--The place is yet fresh in my memory--how can it be otherwise?
often have I moistened it with my tears and covered it with kisses.--Why
cannot I enclose with gold the happy spot, and render it the object of
universal veneration? Whoever wishes to honor monuments of human
salvation would only approach it on their knees.

It was a passage at the back of the house, bordered on the left hand by a
little rivulet, which separated it from the garden, and, on the right, by
the court yard wall; at the end was a private door which opened into the
church of the Cordeliers. Madam de Warrens was just passing this door;
but on hearing my voice, instantly turned about. What an effect did the
sight of her produce! I expected to see a devout, forbidding old woman;
M. de Pontverre's pious and worthy lady could be no other in my
conception; instead of which, I see a face beaming with charms, fine blue
eyes full of sweetness, a complexion whose whiteness dazzled the sight,
the form of an enchanting neck, nothing escaped the eager eye of the
young proselyte; for that instant I was hers!--a religion preached by
such missionaries must lead to paradise!

My letter was presented with a trembling hand; she took it with a smile
--opened it, glanced an eye over M. de Pontverre's and again returned to
mine, which she read through and would have read again, had not the
footman that instant informed her that service was beginning--"Child,"