The daughter of a prosperous tradesman, she had many suitors of her own rank; but she had formed to herself a _beau ideal_ of wedded life which none but a man of education could satisfy; they were all rejected. A physician proposed; more refinement and knowledge was to be expected in the learned professions; she hesitated, but he also was rejected. In the mean time, her father's habits began to change; he became a speculator, fond of pleasure and careless of his business. His speculations failed, and his customers left him. Her mother witnessed the approach of poverty with anxiety; she feared for her daughter alone, for her own health was so feeble, that she could look only for a short term of life. She wished to see her daughter's happiness made as secure as possible, and tried to persuade her to accept the addresses of a young jeweller who had health and a good character to recommend him; but Manon wished to find in her husband a companion and a guide. Her mother died; and intense grief overwhelmed the daughter, both body and mind. It was long before she could be roused to any exertion from that melancholy "which made her a burden to herself and others." At this moment, the "Nouvelle Heloise" was placed in her hands; it excited her attention, and called her thoughts from her loss. "I was twenty-one," she says, "and Rousseau made the same impression on me as Plutarch had done when I was eight. Plutarch had disposed me to republicanism; he had awakened the energy and pride which are its characteristics; he inspired me with a true enthusiasm for public virtue and freedom. Rousseau showed me domestic happiness, and the ineffable felicity I was capable of tasting." She now returned to her studies. Her friends, among whom she numbered some literary men, finding that she committed her reflections to writing, predicted that she would become an author. But she was not ambitious of public distinction; she had adopted the sentiment of Rousseau, that the "dignity of woman is in being unknown; her glory, in the esteem of her husband; her pleasures, in the happiness of her family." "I saw," says Madame Roland, "that an authoress loses more than she gains. My chief object was my own happiness, and I never knew the public interfere with that for any one without spoiling it; there is nothing more delightful than to be appreciated by those with whom one lives, and nothing so empty as the admiration of those whom we are never to meet."