The Queen-Dauphin, who was extremely impatient to know what there was

in the letter which Chatelart had given her, came up to Madam de

Cleves. "Go read this letter," says she; "'tis addressed to the Duke

de Nemours, and was probably sent him by the mistress for whom he has

forsaken all others; if you can't read it now, keep it, and bring it me

about bedtime and inform me if you know the hand." Having said this,

the Queen-Dauphin went away from Madam de Cleves, and left her in such

astonishment, that she was not able for some time to stir out of the

place. The impatience and grief she was in not permitting her to stay

at Court, she went home before her usual hour of retirement; she

trembled with the letter in her hand, her thoughts were full of

confusion, and she experienced I know not what of insupportable grief,

that she had never felt before. No sooner was she in her closet, but

she opened the letter and found it as follows:

I have loved you too well to leave you in a belief that the change you

observe in me is an effect of lightness; I must inform you that your

falsehood is the cause of it; you will be surprised to hear me speak of

your falsehood; you have dissembled it with so much skill, and I have

taken so much care to conceal my knowledge of it from you, that you

have reason to be surprised at the discovery; I am myself in wonder,

that I have discovered nothing of it to you before; never was grief

equal to mine; I thought you had the most violent passion for me, I did

not conceal that which I had for you, and at the time that I

acknowledged it to you without reserve, I found that you deceived me,

that you loved another, and that in all probability I was made a

sacrifice to this new mistress.

I knew it the day you run at the ring,

and this was the reason I was not there; at first I pretended an

indisposition in order to conceal my sorrow, but afterwards I really

fell into one, nor could a constitution delicate like mine support so

violent a shock. When I began to be better, I still counterfeited

sickness, that I might have an excuse for not seeing and for not

writing to you; besides I was willing to have time to come to a

resolution in what manner to deal with you; I took and quitted the same

resolution twenty times; but at last I concluded you deserved not to

see my grief, and I resolved not to show you the least mark of it. I

had a desire to bring down your pride, by letting you see, that my

passion for you declined of itself: I thought I should by this lessen

the value of the sacrifice you had made of me, and was loth you should

have the pleasure of appearing more amiable in the eyes of another, by

showing her how much I loved you; I resolved to write to you in a cold

and languishing manner, that she, to whom you gave my letters, might

perceive my love was at an end: I was unwilling she should have the

satisfaction of knowing I was sensible that she triumphed over me, or

that she should increase her triumph by my despair and complaints.




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