The expression was remarkable, coming from a man who is too well acquainted with the French language, to be mistaken with regard to the force or choice of words. I took these words, however, and I could not then take them otherwise than in a favourable sense: notwithstanding the tone of voice in which they were spoken, was still less favourable than the expression. It is indeed impossible for me to give any idea of it; but it corresponds exactly with those terrible looks I have before mentioned. At every repetition of them I was seized with a shuddering, a kind of horror I could not resist, though a moment's recollection restored me, and made me smile at my terror. The next day all this was so perfectly obliterated, that I did not even think of it during my stay in London, and its neighbourhood. It was not till my arrival in this place, that so many things have contributed to recall these words to my mind; and indeed recall them every moment. These words, the tone of which dwells on my heart, as if I had but just heard them; those long and fatal looks so frequently cast on me; the patting me on the back, with the repetition of _O, my dear Sir_, in answer to my suspicions of his being a traitor: all this affects me to such a degree, after what preceded, that this recollection, had I no other, would be sufficient to prevent any reconciliation or return of confidence between us; not a night indeed passes over my head, but I think I hear, _Rousseau, I have you_, ring in my ears as if he had just pronounced them.