Paris, Monday, September, 1844.

We parted the other day equally vexed the one with the other. We were both wrong, for it was simply the force of circumstances that was to blame. It would have been better not to meet for a long time. It is evident that we can not see each other without disagreeing. We both want the impossible: you, that I should be a statue; I, that you should not be one. Each new proof of the impossibility of that which in our hearts we have never doubted causes bitterness to us both. I regret all the distress I may have caused you. I am too ready to yield to my absurd quick temper. As well get into a passion because ice is cold.

I hope you will forgive me now. I am no longer angry, only very sorrowful. I should not feel so bad if we had not parted as we did. Farewell, since we can be friends only at a distance. When we have grown old, perhaps we shall meet again with pleasure. Meanwhile, in happiness or in distress, do not forget me. I asked you this, I don’t know how many years ago. We hardly ever thought then of quarrelling.

Again, good-bye, while I have the courage to say it.