spoken, is the only one I carried to its utmost extent. The end I
proposed to myself in treating of it should, I think, have procured the
author a better fate. But I will not here anticipate this melancholy
subject. I shall have too much reason to speak of it in the course of my
work.

These different objects offered me subjects of meditation for my walks;
for, as I believed I had already observed, I am unable to reflect when I
am not walking: the moment I stop, I think no more, and as soon as I am
again in motion my head resumes its workings. I had, however, provided
myself with a work for the closet upon rainy days. This was my
dictionary of music, which my scattered, mutilated, and unshapen
materials made it necessary to rewrite almost entirely. I had with me
some books necessary to this purpose; I had spent two months in making
extracts from others, I had borrowed from the king's library, whence I
was permitted to take several to the Hermitage. I was thus provided with
materials for composing in my apartment when the weather did not permit
me to go out, and my copying fatigued me. This arrangement was so
convenient that it made it turn to advantage as well at the Hermitage as
at Montmorency, and afterwards even at Motiers, where I completed the
work whilst I was engaged in others, and constantly found a change of
occupation to be a real relaxation.

During a considerable time I exactly followed the distribution I had
prescribed myself, and found it very agreeable; but as soon as the fine
weather brought Madam d'Epinay more frequently to Epinay, or to the
Chervette, I found that attentions, in the first instance natural to me,
but which I had not considered in my scheme, considerably deranged my
projects. I have already observed that Madam d'Epinay had many amiable
qualities; she sincerely loved her friends; served them with zeal; and,