This
letter I was promised should be punctually delivered. I had now
the painful duty to perform of choosing between Henriette and
Genevieve, as only one attendant was allowed me at
Dames>. Henriette pleaded her claim as my servant, while the
excellent Genevieve timidly urged her early friendship.
"Let chance decide it," cried I. They drew lots, and Genevieve
was selected.
We reached Pont aux Dames in the middle of the night; it was a
miserable looking place, which took its date from the time of
Saint Louis or Charlemagne for ought I know. What a contrast
met my eyes between this ruinous old building, its bare walls,
wooden seats, and gloomy casements, and the splendor of Versailles
or Choisy; all my firmness forsook me, I threw myself weeping
into the arms of Genevieve.
A courier-had announced my intended arrival, and I found all the
good sisters impatient to see me. What eager curiosity did the
pious nuns evince to behold one of whom they had heard so much
even in their quiet retreat, and how many questions had I to reply
to from those who had the courage to address me. Alas! I, of
all the throng assembled, was the most anxious for quiet and solitude.
I was lodged in the best apartments, which, however magnificent
the good people of might consider them, were
not on a par with the granaries of Lucienne. But complaint was
useless, and I could only resign myself to what was offered me.
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