It appeared at the beginning of the carnival; a hawker carried it to the
Princess of Talmont--[It was not the princess, but some other lady,
whose name I do not know.]--on the evening of a ball night at the opera.
After supper the Princess dressed herself for the ball, and until the
hour of going there, took up the new novel. At midnight she ordered the
horses to be put into the carriage, and continued to read. The servant
returned to tell her the horses were put to; she made no answer. Her
people perceiving she forgot herself, came to tell her it was two
o'clock. "There is yet no hurry," replied the princess, still reading
on. Some time afterwards, her watch having stopped, she rang to know the
hour. She was told it was four o'clock. "That being the case," she
said, "it is too late to go to the ball; let the horses be taken off."
She undressed herself and passed the rest of the night in reading.

Ever since I came to the knowledge of this circumstance, I have had a
constant desire to see the lady, not only to know from herself whether or
not what I have related be exactly true, but because I have always
thought it impossible to be interested in so lively a manner in the
happiness of Julia, without having that sixth and moral sense with which
so few hearts are endowed, and without which no person whatever can
understand the sentiments of mine.

What rendered the women so favorable to me was, their being persuaded
that I had written my own history, and was myself the hero of the
romance. This opinion was so firmly established, that Madam de Polignac
wrote to Madam de Verdelin, begging she would prevail upon me to show her
the portrait of Julia. Everybody thought it was impossible so strongly
to express sentiments without having felt them, or thus to describe the
transports of love, unless immediately from the feelings of the heart.