Furnished with a letter from my publisher, which assured me that the
censorship had authorised the publication of my work, I believed
that I had nothing to apprehend, and set out with my friends for an
estate of M. Mathieu de Montmorency, at five leagues from Blois. The
house belonging to this estate is situated in the middle of a
forest; there I walked about with the man whom I most respect in the
world, since I have lost my father. The fineness of the weather, the
magnificence of the forest, the historical recollections which the
place recalled, being the scene of the battle of Fretteval, fought
between Philip Augustus and Richard Coeur-de-Lion, all contributed
to fill my mind with the most quiet and delightful impressions. My
worthy friend, who is only occupied in this world with rendering
himself worthy of heaven, in this conversation, as in all those we
have had together, paid no attention to affairs of the day, and only
sought to do good to my soul. We resumed our journey the next day,
and in these plains of the Vendomois, where you meet not with a
single habitation, and which like the sea seem to present every
where the same appearance, we contrived to lose ourselves
completely. It was already midnight, and we knew not what road to
take, in a country every where the same, and where fertility is as
monotonous as sterility is elsewhere, when a young man on horseback,
perceiving our embarrassment, came and requested us to pass the
night in the chateau of his parents.
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