In these letters, which I
have carefully collected, and for which I have no ground for reproaching
you, you will see yourself reflected as in a row of mirrors. Do not be
ashamed; your self-deception is not your fault; society is to blame. I
am not sending the letters back to discourage or hurt you; only that you
may see how, with each adventure, you have started with the same
sentimental illusions and ended with the same pitiable disenchantment.
A penniless widow turned forty--we are about the same age--with five
children has not much prospect of marrying again, however attractive she
may be. I have told you so repeatedly; but your feminine vanity refuses
to believe it. In each fresh adventure you have seen a possible
marriage--not because you feel specially drawn towards matrimony, but
because you are unwilling to leave the course free to younger women.
You have shown yourself in public with your admirers.
Neglecting the most ordinary precautions, you have allowed them to come
to your house; in a word, you have unblushingly advertised connections
which ought to have been concealed.
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