We felt that the light of her genius was only the reverberation of a mine of tenderness of heart.

Thus there was a secret love in all the admiration she excited; and she, in admiration, cared only for love.

Love with her was but enlightened admiration.
Events rapidly ripened; ideas and things were crowded into her life: she had no infancy.

At twenty-two years of age she had maturity of thought with the grace and softness of youth.

She wrote like Rousseau, and spoke like Mirabeau.