Chapter XCIV: Letter LXXXIII: PARIS, Monday, May 6, 1680

You observe with great humor, that, if the human heart is left to itself, it will always find something to comfort itself with, and that its disposition is to be happy. I hope mine will have the same disposition as others, and that time and the air will abate the uneasiness I at present endure. I think you borrowed from me what you say about the passion of separating ourselves from each other; it might be supposed that we thought ourselves too near neighbors, and that after mature deliberation it had been resolved on both sides to make a voluntary removal of three hundred leagues further asunder. You see I in a manner copy your own letter; the reason is, that you have given so agreeable a turn to my idea, that I take pleasure in repeating it. I hope at last, the sea will set bounds to our passion, and that after having retired, each to a certain distance, we shall return back, and advance toward each other as fast as we have receded. It is certain that for two persons who seek each other’s company, and delight in being together, we have had the most singular destiny. Whoever were to seek to destroy my faith in Providence, would deprive me of my only comfort; and if I thought it was in our own power to settle or unsettle, to do or undo, to will one thing or another, I should never have a moment’s peace. The Creator of the universe must be with me the director of every event that happens; and when I look to him as the cause, I blame no one, and submit with humility, though not without inexpressible grief of heart; at the same time I put my trust in Him, that He will again bring us together as he has done before.