When I saw her for the first time, she was still one of the finest women in Paris.

She received me at her toilette, her arms were uncovered, her hair dishevelled, and her combing-cloth ill-arranged.
This scene was new to me; it was too powerful for my poor head, I became confused, my senses wandered; in short, I was violently smitten by Madam Dupin.
My confusion was not prejudicial to me; she did not perceive it.

She kindly received the book and the author; spoke with information of my plan, sung, accompanied herself on the harpsichord, kept me to dinner, and placed me at table by her side.

Less than this would have turned my brain; I became mad.

She permitted me to visit her, and I abused the permission.