While he pressed me to his bosom I could not restrain my tears; his flowed plentifully. A thousand contending emotions were struggling in my heart; but excessive confusion and shame were most prevalent, and kept me silent.
I was at the farther part of Poitou, my friend, said Sinclair, and knew not till lately, how necessary the consolations of friendship were become; besides, I wanted six months for my own affairs, that I might afterward devote myself to you. I am just come from Fontainbleau, have obtained leave of absence, and you may now dispose of me as you please.
Oh Sinclair! cried I, unworthy the title of your friend, I no longer deserve, no more can enjoy the precious consolations which friendship so pure thus generously offers: I am past help, past hope.
Not so, said he, again embracing me; I know thy heart, thy native sensibility and noble mind: had I nothing but compassion to offer, certain I could not comfort, I should have wept for and assisted thee in secret; but thou wouldst not have seen me here. No; friendship inspires and brings me hither, with a happy assurance I shall soften thy anguish.
Sinclair’s discourse not only awakened the most lively gratitude, but raised me in my own esteem. In giving me back his friendship, he gave me hopes of myself. I immediately opened my whole heart to him, and found a satisfaction of which I had long been deprived, that of speaking without disguise of all my faults, and all my sorrows. The melancholy tale was often interrupted by my tears; and Sinclair, after hearing me with as much attention as tenderness, raised his eyes to heaven and gave a deep sigh.
Of what use, said he, are wit, sensibility of soul, or virtuous dispositions, without those solid, those invariable principles which education or experience alone can give! He who has never profited by the lessons of others, can never grow wise but at his own expence, and is only to be taught by his errors and misfortunes.
Sinclair then conjured me to leave Paris for a time, and travel; adding that he would go with me, and pressed me to depart without delay for Italy. I give myself up entirely to your guidance, said I; dispose of a wretch who without your aid must sink beneath his load of misery. Profiting accordingly by the temper in which he found me, he made me give my word to set off in two days. The evening before my departure, I wished once more to revisit the place where I had first beheld my Julia. It was in the gardens of the Palais-Royal; but, ashamed of appearing in public, I waited till it was dark. There was music there that evening, and a great concourse of people; so hiding myself in the most obscure part of the great alley, I sat down behind a large tree.