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The impression of this look remained with me, and gave me much uneasiness. My trouble increased even to a degree of fainting; and if I had not been relieved by an effusion of tears, I had been suffocated. Presently after[Pg lxxxiii] this I was seized with the most violent remorse; I even despised myself; till at length, in a transport which I still remember with delight, I sprang on his neck, embraced him eagerly; while almost choked with sobbing, and bathed in tears, I cried out, in broken accents, No, no, David Hume cannot be treacherous. If he be not the best of men, he must be the basest of mankind. David Hume politely returned my embraces, and, gently, tapping me on the back, repeated several times, in a good-natured and easy tone, Why, what, my dear Sir! Nay, my dear Sir! Oh, my dear Sir! He said nothing more. I felt my heart yearn within me. We went to bed; and I set out the next day for the country.

Arrived at this agreeable asylum, to which I have travelled so far in search of repose, I ought to find it in a retired, convenient, and pleasant habitation; the master of which, a man of understanding and worth, spares for nothing to render it agreeable to me. But what repose can be tasted in life, when the heart is agitated? Afflicted with the most cruel uncertainty, and ignorant what to think of a man whom I ought to love and esteem, I endeavoured to get rid of that fatal doubt, in placing confidence in my benefactor. For, wherefore, from what unaccountable caprice should he display so much apparent zeal for my happiness, and at the same time entertain secret[Pg lxxxiv] designs against my honour. Among the several observations that disturbed me, each fact was in itself of no great moment; it was their concurrence that was surprising; yet I thought, perhaps, that Mr Hume, informed of other facts, of which I was ignorant, could have given me a satisfactory solution of them, had we come to an explanation. The only thing that was inexplicable, was, that he refused to come to such an explanation; which both his honour and his friendship rendered equally necessary. I saw very well there was something in the affair which I did not comprehend, and which I earnestly wished to know. Before I came to an absolute determination, therefore, with regard to him, I was desirous of making another effort, and to try to recover him, if he had permitted himself to be seduced by my enemies, or, in short, to prevail on him to explain himself one way or other. Accordingly I wrote him a letter, which he ought to have found very natural,[20] if he were guilty; but very extraordinary, if he were innocent. For what could be more extraordinary than a letter full of gratitude for his services, and at the same time, of distrust of his sentiments; and in which, placing in a manner his actions on[Pg lxxxv] one side, and his sentiments on the other, instead of speaking of the proofs of friendship he had given me, I desired him to love me, for the good he had done me![21] I did not take the precaution to preserve a copy of this letter; but as he hath done it, let him produce it: and whoever shall read it, and see therein a man labouring under a secret trouble, which he is desirous of expressing, and is afraid to do it, will, I am persuaded, be curious to know what kind of claircissement it produced, especially after the preceding scene. None. Absolutely none at all. Mr Hume contented himself, in his answer, with only speaking of the obliging offices Mr Davenport proposed to do for me. As for the rest, he said not a word of the principal subject of my letter, nor of the situation of my heart, of whose distress he could not be ignorant. I was more struck with this silence, than I had been with his phlegm during our last conversation. In this I was wrong; this silence was very natural after the other, and was no more than I ought to have expected. For when one hath ventured to declare to a man's face, I am tempted to believe you a traitor, and he hath not the curiosity to[Pg lxxxvi] ask you for what,[22] it may be depended on he will never have any such curiosity as long as he lives; and it is easy to judge of him from these slight indications.

After the receipt of his letter, which was long delayed, I determined at length to write to him no more. Soon after, every thing served to confirm me in the resolution to break off all farther correspondence with him. Curious to the last degree concerning the minutest circumstance of my affairs, he was not content to learn them of me, in our frequent conversations; but, as I learned, never let slip an opportunity of being alone with my governante,[23] to interrogate her even importunately concerning my occupations, my resources, my friends, acquaintances, their names, situations, place of abode, and all this after setting out with telling her he was well acquainted with the whole of my connections; nay, with the most jesuitical address, he would ask the same questions of us separately. One ought undoubtedly to interest one's self in the affairs of a friend; but one ought to be satisfied with what he thinks proper to let us know of them, particularly when people are so frank and ingenuous[Pg lxxxvii] as I am. Indeed all this petty inquisitiveness is very little becoming a philosopher.

About the same time I received two other letters which had been opened. The one from Mr Boswell, the seal of which was so loose and disfigured, that Mr Davenport, when he received it, remarked the same to Mr Hume's servant. The other was from Mr d'Ivernois, in Mr Hume's packet, and which had been sealed up again by means of a hot iron, which, awkwardly applied, had burnt the paper round the impression. On this I wrote to Mr Davenport to desire him to take charge of all the letters which might be sent for me, and to trust none of them in any body's hands, under any pretext whatever. I know not whether Mr Davenport, who certainly was far from thinking that precaution was to be observed with regard to Mr Hume, showed him my letter or not; but this I know, that the latter had all the reason in the world to think he had forfeited my confidence, and that he proceeded nevertheless in his usual manner, without troubling himself about the recovery of it.

But what was to become of me, when I saw, in the public papers, the pretended letter of the King of Prussia which I had never before seen, that fictitious letter, printed in French and English, given for genuine, even with the signature of the King, and in which I knew the pen of[Pg lxxxviii] Mr d'Alembert as certainly as if I had seen him write it?[24]

In a moment a ray of light discovered to me the secret cause of that touching and sudden change, which I had observed in the public respecting me; and I saw the plot which was put in execution at London, had been laid in Paris.

Mr d'Alembert, another intimate friend of Mr Hume's, had been long since my secret enemy, and lay in watch for opportunities to injure me without exposing himself. He was the only person, among the men of letters, of my old acquaintance, who did not come to see me,[25] or send their civilities during my last passage through Paris. I knew his secret disposition, but I gave myself very little trouble about it, contenting myself with advising my friends of it occasionally. I remember that being asked about him one day by Mr Hume, who afterwards asked my governante the same question, I told him that Mr d'Alembert was a cunning, artful man. He contradicted me with a warmth that surprised me; not then knowing they stood so well with each other, and that it was his own cause he defended.