Since you assured me that we would meet each other and recognize each other in Paradise, I have been thinking constantly about the arrangement of our affairs in that country—for I have great confidence in your assurances, and what you believe I believe implicitly.

More than 40 years will probably elapse from the time of my arrival there until you follow me. I am somewhat fearful that in the course of such a long period you may forget me. Therefore, I have thought of proposing that you give me your word of honor not to renew there your contract with Mr. B, while I give you mine that I shall wait for you.—But that gentleman is so good, so generoous towards us—he loves you so much and you love him—that I cannot think of this proposition without scruples of conscience. Yet, the idea of an eternity during which I would not be more favored than by being allowed to kiss your hands, or sometimes your cheeks, and to spend two or three hours in your sweet company on Wednesday and Saturday evenings, is horrendous. In short, I cannot make this proposition either. But since (with all those who know you) I wish to see you happy in all things, we can agree not to speak about it any more for the present, and to leave it to you, when we shall meet in the other world, to decide and to settle the matter as you may think best for your own happiness and for ours. Decide it in what way you want, I feel that I shall love you for all eternity. If you reject me, perhaps I shall address myself to Madame d’Hardancourt, whom it may please to take up housekeeping with me; then I shall pass my domestic hours agreeably with her, and shall be nearer at hand to see you. I shall have enough time during those 40 years to practice on the armonica, and perhaps, I may be able to play well enough to accompany you on the piano-forte. From time to time, we shall have little concerts: good Pagin will be of the party; your neighbor and his dear family; M. de Chaumont, M. B., M. Jourdain, M. Grammont, Mademoiselle Du Tartre, the petite mère, and other chosen friends will form our audience; and the dear good girls, accompanied by some other young angels whose portraits you have already given me, will sing the alleluias with us. We shall eat together apples of Paradise roasted with butter and nutmeg, and we shall pity those who are not dead.

Here is a great exercise that I have done in French, in order to profit from your corrections. There are many mistakes, admittedly, and many follies. I confide them to your friendship. Farewell, my ever dear friend.