Talbot, who had
seen little of Clara since my rejection by Emily, and subsequent
illness, offered my father to accompany me; and Clara was anxious that
he should go, as she was determined not to listen to any thing he
could say during my affliction; she could not, she said, be happy
while I was miserable, and gave him no opportunity of conversing with
her on the subject of their union.
We arrived at Paris; but so abstracted was I in thought, that I
neither saw nor heard any thing. Every attention of Talbot was lost
upon me. I continued in my sullen stupor, and forgot to read the
little book which dear Clara had given, and which, for her sake, I had
promised to read. I wrote to Eugenia on my arrival; and disburthened
my mind in some measure, by acknowledging my shameful treatment of
her. I implored her pardon; and, by return of post, received it.
Her answer was affectionate and consoling; but she stated that her
spirits, of course, were low, and her health but indifferent.
For many days my mind remained in a state, of listless inanity; and
Talbot applied, or suffered others to apply, the most pernicious
stimulant that could be thought of to rouse me to action. Taking
a quiet walk with him, we met some friends of his; and, at their
request, we agreed to go to the saloons of the Palais Royal. This was
a desperate remedy, and by a miracle only was I saved from utter and
irretrievable ruin. How many of my countrymen have fallen victims to
the arts practised in that horrible school of vice, I dare not say!
Happy should I be to think that the infection had not reached our own
shores, and found patrons among the great men of the land.
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