This last letter extricated me from a terrible embarrassment, and threw me into another of almost the same magnitude.  Although these letters and answers were sent and returned the same day with an extreme rapidity, the interval had been sufficient to place another between my rage and transport, and to give me time to reflect on the enormity of my imprudence.  Madam d’Houdetot had not recommended to me anything so much as to remain quiet, to leave her the care of extricating herself, and to avoid, especially at that moment, all noise and rupture; and I, by the most open and atrocious insults, took the properest means of carrying rage to its greatest height in the heart of a woman who was already but too well disposed to it.  I now could naturally expect nothing from her but an answer so haughty, disdainful, and expressive of contempt, that I could not, without the utmost meanness, do otherwise than immediately quit her house.  Happily she, more adroit than I was furious, avoided, by the manner of her answer, reducing me to that extremity.  But it was necessary either to quit or immediately go and see her; the alternative was inevitable; I resolved on the latter, though I foresaw how much I must be embarrassed in the explanation.  For how was I to get through it without exposing either Madam d’Houdetot or Theresa? and woe to her whom I should have named!  There was nothing that the vengeance of an implacable and an intriguing woman did not make me fear for the person who should be the object of it.  It was to prevent this misfortune that in my letter I had spoken of nothing but suspicions, that I might not be under the necessity of producing my proofs.  This, it is true, rendered my transports less excusable; no simple suspicions being sufficient to authorize me to treat a woman, and especially a friend, in the manner I had treated Madam d’Epinay.  But here begins the noble task I worthily fulfilled of expiating my faults and secret weaknesses by charging myself with such of the former as I was incapable of committing, and which I never did commit.

I had not to bear the attack I had expected, and fear was the greatest evil I received from it.  At my approach, Madam d’ Epinay threw her arms about my neck, bursting into tears.  This unexpected reception, and by an old friend, extremely affected me; I also shed many tears.  I said to her a few words which had not much meaning; she uttered others with still less, and everything ended here.  Supper was served; we sat down to table, where, in expectation of the explanation I imagined to be deferred until supper was over, I made a very poor figure; for I am so overpowered by the most trifling inquietude of mind that I cannot conceal it from persons the least clear-sighted.  My embarrassed appearance must have given her courage, yet she did not risk anything upon that foundation.  There was no more explanation after than before supper:  none took place on the next day, and our little tete-a-tete