‘I have received, my dear mother, all the woeful and piteous letters you have taken the trouble to write to me. _Why weepest thou, woman of little faith?_ as it is said in Scripture. Remember that our Lord, in the famed Temple of Jerusalem, said to his mother: _Woman, what have I to do with thee?_ yet the mother was older than the Son. How this word _woman_, &c., caused the Scribes and Pharisees to laugh, and has shocked all the Doctors of the New Law, even those of Sorbonne! I will say to you with greater tenderness: my mother, what is there in common between your affairs at Tonnerre, and my political affairs in London? Do go on planting your cabbages in peace, weeding your garden and enjoying its fruit; drink the milk of your cows and the wine of your vines, and leave me in peace to the foolish sayings at Paris and Versailles. Dry up your tears, which grieve without comforting me. I am not in need of consolation, because I am not in the least sad.... I do my duty, and my adversaries, who call themselves great men, do not perform theirs—being guided in their actions by caprice and personal interests, and not in the least degree in the interests of justice, and for the welfare of the King and country. Let them do as they please, I will do as I think proper.... I do not fear the thunderbolts of these little Jupiters, be they far or near. This is all I have to say, therefore have your mind at ease, as is mine, and if you come to see me in London I shall be delighted, and I will take as good care of you as I do of the Court papers, which M. de Guerchy will not have except on good grounds, with colours flying, match alight, ammunition at hand, and drums beating. He shall not even have the envelopes of the letters, I swear it to you by all that is sacred, unless he brings to me an authentic order from the King, my master and his, and this is what he has not been able to effect hitherto.