The Berlin evenings are long. I occupy a house belonging to the Duchesse de Dino[181]. My secretaries[182] leave me so soon as night sets in. When there is no entertainment at Court for the wedding of the Grand-Duke and Grand-Duchess Nicholas[183], I stay at home. Seated all alone by a cheerless stove, I hear nothing save the call of the sentry at the Brandenburg Gate and the steps on the snow of the man who whistles the hours. How shall I spend my time? With books? I have scarcely any. If I were to continue my Memoirs? * You last saw me on the road from Combourg to Rennes: I alighted in the latter place at the house of one of my kinsmen. He informed me with delight that a lady of his acquaintance, who was going to Paris, had a seat to give away in her carriage, and that he undertook to persuade this lady to take me with her. I accepted, cursing my kinsman's civility as I did so. He settled the matter, and quickly presented me to my traveling-companion, a sprightly, free-and-easy milliner, who began to laugh when she saw me. The horses arrived at midnight and we set out. [Sidenote: My first visit to Paris.] Behold me in a post-chaise, alone with a woman, in the middle of the night. How was I, who had never in my life looked at a woman without blushing, to descend from the height of my dreams to this terrifying reality? I did not know where I was; I clung to my corner of the carriage for fear of touching Madame Rose's gown. When she spoke to me, I stammered without being able to reply. She had to pay the postilion, to take everything upon herself, for I was capable of nothing. When day broke, she looked with fresh amazement at this booby with whom she regretted having saddled herself. When the aspect of the landscape began to change and I ceased to recognize the dress and accent of the Breton peasants, I fell into a profound despondency, which increased the contempt in which Madame Rose held me. I noticed the feeling I inspired, and I received from this first trial of the world an impression which time has not wholly effaced. I was born shy but not shamefaced; I had the modesty but not the embarrassment of my years. When I suspected that I was ridiculous because of my good side, my shyness changed into insurmountable timidity. I was unable to speak a word: I felt that I had something to conceal, and that this something was a virtue; I made up my mind to self-concealment in order to wear my innocence in peace.