ABSTRACT
I begin to think, my dear Aza, that the time is very long before I see you. With how much ardour do I wish your journey at an end! Time has dissipated my fears, and I now look on them only as a dream, of which the morning dawn has effaced even the impression. I cannot help thinking myself criminal for having suspected you, and my repentance increases my tenderness to such a degree, that it has almost erased my compassion for Deterville. I cannot forgive his having conceived so ill an opinion of you, and I now feel my regret much less for being, in a manner, separated from him.
