wants of your heart and of your mind.  In that case you would have to make a very painful choice.  Whatever conclusion you may perforce arrive at as to my present condition and the innocence of my mind, let me at all events retain your friendship.  Do not allow my errors, or even my faults, to destroy it.  Besides, as I have said, I count upon your breadth of view, and I will not do anything to demonstrate that it is not orthodox, for I am anxious that you should adhere to it; and at the same time I wish you to be orthodox.  You are almost the only person to whom I have confided my inmost thoughts; in Heaven’s name be indulgent and continue to call me your brother!  My affection, dear friend, will never fail you.

[Footnote 1:  See above, page 262.]

PARIS, November 12th, 1845.

I was somewhat surprised, my dear friend, not to get a reply from you before the close of the vacation.  The first inquiry, therefore, which I made at St. Sulpice was for you, first in order to learn the cause of your silence, and especially in order that I might have some talk with you.  I need not tell you how grieved I was when I learnt that it was owing to a serious illness that I had not heard from you.  It is true that the further details which were given me sufficed to allay my anxiety, but they did not diminish the regret which I felt at finding the chance of a conversation with you indefinitely postponed.  This unexpected piece of news, coinciding with so strange a phase in my own life, inspired me with many reflections.  You will hardly believe, perhaps, that I envied your lot, and that I longed for something to happen which would defer my embarking upon the stormy sea of busy life and prolong the repose which accompanies home life, so quiet and so free of care.  You will understand this when I have explained to you all the trials which I have had to undergo and which are still in store for me.  I will not attempt to explain them to you in detail, but will keep them over until we meet.  I will merely relate the principal facts, and those which have led to a lasting result.

My firm resolution upon coming to St. Sulpice was to break with a past which had ceased to be in harmony with my present dispositions, and to be quit of appearances which could only mislead.  But I was anxious to proceed very deliberately, especially as I felt that a reaction within a more or less considerable interval was by no means improbable.  An accidental circumstance had the effect of bringing the crisis to a head quicker than I had intended.  Upon my arrival at St. Sulpice, I was informed that I was no longer to be attached to the Seminary, but to the Carmelite establishment, which the Archbishop of Paris had just founded, and I was ordered to go and report myself to him the same day.  You can fancy how embarrassed I felt.  My embarrassment was still further increased upon learning that the Archbishop had just arrived at the Seminary, and wished to speak to me.  To accept