I might not, at another time, have rejoiced in this disunion, but it was now most opportune: it gave me three hours’ conference with my dearest father—the only conference of that length I have had in four years.
Fortune again was kind; for my father began relating various anecdotes of attacks made upon him for procuring to sundry strangers some acquaintance with his daughter,[334] particularly with the Duchesse de Biron, and the Mesdames de Boufflers[335] to whom he answered, he had no power; but was somewhat struck by the question of Madame de B. in return, who exclaimed, “Mais, monsieur, est-ce possible! Mademoiselle votre fille n’a-t-elle point de vacance?"[336]
This led to much interesting discussion, and to many confessions and explanations on my part, never made before; which induced him to enter more fully into the whole of the situation, and its circumstances, than he had ever yet had the leisure or the spirits to do; and he repeated sundry speeches of discontent at my seclusion from the world.
All this encouraged me to much detail: I spoke my high and constant veneration for my royal mistress, her merits, her virtues, her condescension, and her even peculiar kindness towards me. But I owned the species of life distasteful to me; I was lost to all private comfort, dead to all domestic endearment; I was worn with want of rest, and fatigued with laborious watchfulness and attendance. My time was devoted to official duties; and all that in life was dearest to me—my friends, my chosen society, my best affections—lived now in my mind only by recollection, and rested upon that with nothing but bitter regret. With relations the most deservedly dear, with friends of almost unequalled goodness, I lived like an orphan-like one who had no natural ties, and must make her way as she could by those that were factitious. Melancholy was the existence where happiness was excluded, though not a complaint could be made! where the illustrious personages who were served possessed almost all human excellence, yet where those who were their servants, though treated with the most benevolent condescension, could never, in any part of the live-long day, command liberty, or social intercourse, or repose.
The silence of my dearest father now silencing myself, I turned to look at him; but how was I struck to see his honoured head bowed down almost into his bosom with dejection and discomfort!—we were both perfectly still a few moments; but when he raised his head I could hardly keep my seat, to see his eyes filled with tears!—“I have long,” he cried, “been uneasy, though I have not spoken; but if you wish to resign, my house, my purse, my arms, shall be open to receive you, back;" The emotion of my whole heart at this speech-this sweet, this generous speech—O my dear friends, I need not say it.
We were mutually forced to break up our conference. I could only instantly accept his paternal offer, and tell him it was my guardian angel, it was Providence in its own benignity, that inspired him with such goodness. I begged him to love the day in which he had given me such comfort, and assured him it would rest upon my heart with grateful pleasure till it ceased to beat.
He promised to drink tea with me before I left town, and settle all our proceedings. I acknowledged my intention to have ventured to solicit this very permission of resigning. “But I,” cried he, smiling with the sweetest kindness, “have spoken first myself.”
What a joy to me, what a relief, this very circumstance! it will always lighten any evil that may, unhappily, follow this proposed step.