If the esteem I have for you was not of the highest, it would no doubt increase on discovering in you so rare a virtue, for I terribly love kind friends, and though of a sex to whose lot levity falls, nothing would pain me more than to cease loving one I had loved: what pleasure therefore it is for me who have loved, love, and will love you all my life, to have a friend such as I should wish to have! Ever love me, dear Monsieur, and believe that the brightness of gold, though I am in Holland, will never cause me such pleasure as the mere thought of having a friend tried by time. But I know not of what I am thinking. You ask only for a compliment and I am returning professions of love and lengthily too; no matter, compliments are only compliments, that is to say speeches generally devoid of meaning and that are far from expressing the true feelings of the heart, consequently they would be unfit to express the sincerity of the friendship I entertain for you; for
Of loyal friends if the fashion is lost, _I_ still love as women loved of old.
I write down those lines with a trembling hand, not knowing very well how that sort of thing must be put, but the lines express so fully my meaning that I thought you might overstep the rules, if the rhythm is not right; however that may be, you must be persuaded that such are the feelings of your kind friend.
[A gap in the correspondence. Two years later Coste writes the following letters.]
... Last century, you were infatuated with wit, you say, and you thought yourself bound to write in a sublime style. Don't tell me that, Mademoiselle. I know you too well to believe that of you. I know that last century your mind had depth and strength and you were strong-minded; you wrote well, knowing what tone to assume and never departing from it. If that be a fault, you are not rid of it at the beginning of this century....
As for me, I fancy that a charming shepherdess who, after talking to her shepherd about rain and fair weather, suddenly said without regard to connection in subjects: "Oh, dear Tirtis, how I love thee!" would persuade him far better than a more witty shepherdess who, coming more skilfully to the point, said: "See the lamb yonder, how pretty it is, how charmingly it frisks about the grass, it is my pet, I love it much, but, dear Tirtis, less than thee!" That is more witty but not so moving, if I am to believe those skilled in the matter....