M. de Fersen and his wife travelled in one coach; his daughter, with her nurse, in another. As my travelling carriage was of the same description, and could only accommodate two persons, every day, when about to start after breakfast, M. de Fersen would beg me to take his place in his wife's carriage, while he took his customary siesta in mine.
Irene, who had shown much sorrow at the mere idea of separating from me, always joined us at these times, and our "conversations of the saloon" continued thus up to Paris.
Notwithstanding the promise I had made Madame de Fersen, I determined on the last day of our journey, to renew my avowal of love.
Until then I had scrupulously kept my word, because I feared by not doing so I would forfeit the privilege of our tête-à-tête during the journey.
My hope had been to become, at least for Catherine, a daily thought, and to captivate and interest her mind so that little by little she should become keenly sensitive to my presence or my absence.
I believed that I had achieved this end. I loved Madame de Fersen ardently. I had an excessive longing to please her, and except the word "love," which never passed my lips, I put in my attentions to her all the eagerness, all the tenderness, of the most passionate lover.
Without studying my conversation too deeply, I endeavoured to speak to Catherine only on subjects that were new to her.
She knew neither Paris, nor France, nor England, nor Spain, and I was thoroughly acquainted with them all. I tried, therefore, to amuse her with my accounts of these places, and my descriptions of the customs and habits of these nations.
I succeeded almost always, as I could perceive by the serious attention given to my words, and the interested questions they elicited; then, in spite of myself, I showed my happiness and delight in having interested her.
Madame de Fersen had too much tact not to notice the great impression she continued to make upon me, and she seemed grateful to me for my reserve.