A thousand, thousand tender thanks for not having forgotten me. My son has just brought me your letter. With what ardour I read it and yet I spent much time on it; for there was not a word in it that did not make me weep. But those tears were so sweet. I found again my whole heart, and such as it always will be; there are sentiments which are life itself, and which can only finish with it.
I would be in despair if my letter of the 19th had displeased you; I do not entirely remember it’s expressions, but I know what very painful sentiment had dictated it, it was the chagrin not to have had news from you.
I had written you at my departure from Malmaison; and since then, how many times did I not wish to write to you! But I felt the reason of your silence, and I feared to be importunate by a letter. Yours has been a balm for me. Be happy; be it as much as you deserve it; it is my entire heart that speaks to you. You also have just given me my share of happiness, and a share very vividly felt; nothing can equal the value for me of a mark of your remembrance.
Adieu, my friend; I thank you as tenderly as I shall always love you.