I was too happy Saturday, Sunday and Monday; yes, my dear papa, I was too happy, my present sadness proves it! I have not gone yet to tidy up your rooms, for everything would be telling me too forcefully that you are no longer there. But I have been back to our meadows; I saw everywhere the trace of your steps. The trees seemed a sadder green, the river seemed to flow more slowly. I am not flattering you; I am surrendering to the simple outpouring of my heart. It is to her father that his tender and loving daughter is speaking; I had a father once, the best of men, he was my first, my closest friend. I lost him too soon! You have often asked me: Couldn’t I take the place of those you regret? And you have told me about the humane custom of certain savages who adopt their prisoners of war and put them in the place of their own dead relatives. You have taken in my heart the place of that father whom I loved and respected so much. The harrowing grief I felt at his loss has changed into a gentle melancholy, which is dear to me and which I owe to you. You have acquired in me one child and one friend more; I began by idolizing you in the way that everyone should idolize a great man; I was curious to see you, my vanity was flattered to receive you in my house; then I no longer saw anything in you but your soul, so sensitive to friendship, your kindness, your simplicity, and I said, “This man is so good that he will love me,” and I undertook to love you well, in order to persuade you to do the same. If my friendship is dear to you, if you were happy with the way I took care of you at my house, there is a way of proving it to me: it is to come back, my dear papa; to come back with your amiable son and with my voisin; I hope that you will be able to do so, and that if you are able, you will do it. I have the honor to be, my dear papa, your very humble and very obedient servant