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 Geneviève.
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 Pont aux Dames 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.