J. Rousseau, we parted.
Early the next day I set out for Paris accompanied by Henriette;
there, in pursuance of the suggestion of madame de Mirepoix, I
dressed myself as a person recently arrived from the country, and
Henriette, who was to accompany me, disguised herself as a villager.
I assure you, our personal attractions lost nothing by the change
of our attire. From the rue de la Jussienne to the rue Platriere
is only a few steps; nevertheless, in the fear of being recognised,
I took a hired carriage. Having reached our place of destination,
we entered, by a shabby door, the habitation of Jean Jacques Rousseau:
his apartments were on the fifth floor. I can scarcely describe
to you, my friend, the emotions I experienced as I drew nearer
and nearer to the author of "Heloise." At each flight of stairs
I was compelled to pause to collect my ideas, and my poor heart
beat as though I had been keeping an assignation. At length,
however, we reached the fifth story; thereafter having rested a
few minutes to recover myself, I was about to knock at a door
which was opposite to me, when, as I approached, I heard a sweet
but tremulous voice singing a melancholy air, which I have never
since heard anywhere; the same voice repeated the romance to
which I was listening several times. When it had entirely ceased
I profited by the silence to tap with my knuckles against the door,
but so feeble was the signal, that even Henriette, who was close
behind me, could not hear it.
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