I thank you, my dear friend, to have taken the trouble to write me at a moment when you were surrounded by so many interesting subjects; what your grandson writes me about your reception in Philadelphia gives the greatest joy to all our friends and especially me. I imagined the Eternal Father having held judgment in Purgatory and being received upon his return in Paradise by the souls which he had sent there ahead of him. What a glorious moment for you, this moment when, after nine years' absence, you have returned to your country, which has become liberated by your intelligence and your diligence; and to receive there, by the unanimity of your fellow citizens, the purest expression of all the sentiments that might flatter a great spirit! The vaunted triumphs of the ancient brigands of Rome were so far from being as total as yours! What a beautiful life Providence has given you!

But will you keep your promises? Did you busy yourself during the voyage with writing that life? Will I receive it soon? Consider that it is one of the greatest ways to ease the pain which our separation will cause me for the rest of my life, and that if you do not perform your duty, 20 fools will write copious volumes of absurd tales, entitled The Life of Dr. Franklin. Since your departure, the Mercure de France has already given a notice in order to disabuse those who believe that your family originates from Pontoise, 7 leagues from Paris; the notice claims that your father was born in Boston, that he was a printer, etc. etc.

If you have been upset all this time that I did not accompany you, believe that I have had the same regrets, and if I had been able to think two months earlier that I would not be a burden for you, I would not have left you, even had God entrusted me with his gazette on August 23rd.

But you have many reasons to reproach yourself: you had two good friends here who got along fairly well because they almost never saw each other and because you assured each of them in particular that she was the one you loved the most; but now you write to one and keep your silence with the other? The former does not fail to boast and to show her letter everywhere; what do you think should become of the latter? Here are two women with knives drawn, their friends are taking sides, the war is becoming full-scale, and that is your doing! With a single sheet of paper you set on fire that half of the world which so helped you to pacify the other half! And what a problem you create for the rest of us, who are trying to stop the consequences of such animosity! Ah, if you came back, you would not be received here as if this were your home. It is fortunate, however, that at the time your letters arrived, Mme Brillon was busy with her daughter's wedding. On the 20th of this month, she married M. Vialal de Malachelle, counsellor of the court of excise, which he must leave in order to fill M. Brillon's post. He is rich, an only son, and we hope that he will make his wife happy. This affair made Mme Brillon less sensitive to your ingratitude, but afterwards, beware of her anger, her nerves, her vengeance!

No news at all here; the court goes hunting and sees comedies at Fontainebleau. The trial of Cardinal de Rohan, which I told you about, will not end until the return of Parliament.

All my family sends you their love and will love you always, they cry and smile when you are talked about, they embrace you with all their arms. Madame de Chaumont is about to return here. All my neighbors, our mutual friends, and especially the family of the Duc de la Rochefoucauld ask me to pass on good wishes, respects, and congratulations to you. Adieu, my dear friend, I am yours for life