My very own coco chanel.

A few words from you, my beloved, have again changed the state of my mind. Yes, you can do anything with me, and tomorrow, I should be dead indeed if the gentle sounds of your voice, do not suffice to recall the life of my body. With what different feelings to yesterday’s I shall lay myself down tonight! Yesterday, I no longer believed in your love; the hour of death would have been welcome to me.

And yet I still said to myself, 'If it be true that he does not love me, if nothing in me could deserve the blessing of his love, without which there is no longer any charm in life, is that a reason for dying? Do I exist for my own personal happiness? No; my whole existence is devoted to him, even in spite of him. And by what right, should I have dared to aspire his love? Am I, then, more than an angel or a deity? I love him, true, even I; I am ready to sacrifice everything gladly for his sake – everything, even the hope of being loved by him, there is no devotedness of which I am not capable of him, for one of his smiles, for one of his looks. But could I be otherwise? Is he not the sole aim of my life? That he may show indifference to me, even hate will be my misfortune that is all. What does it matter, so it does not injure his happiness? Yes, if he cannot love me I ought to blame myself only. My duty is to keep close to his steps, to surround his existence with mine, to serve him as a barrier against all dangers, to offer him my hate as a stepping-stone, to place myself unceasingly between him and all sorrows, without claiming any reward, without expecting any recompense.

Only too happy if he deign sometimes to cast a pitying look upon his slave, and to remember her in the hour of danger! Alas! If he only allows me to give my life to anticipate his every desire, all his caprices; if he but permits me to kiss him with respect his adored footprints; if he but consent to lean upon me at times amidst the difficulties of life: Then I shall have obtained the only happiness to which I have the presumption to aspire. Because I am ready to sacrifice all for him, does he owe me any gratitude? Is it her fault that I love him? Must he, on that account, believe herself constraint to love me? No! He may sport my devotion, repay my service with hate, and repulse my idolatry with scorn, without my having for a moment the right to complaint of the angel; nor ought I to seize for an instant to love upon him all that which he would disdain. And should every one of my days have been marked by some sacrifice for him, I should still, at the day of my death, have discharge nothing of the infinite debt that my existence owes to his’.

Such my well-beloved, were the thoughts and resolutions of my mind at this time yesterday. Today they are still the same. Only that is mingled with them the certainty of happiness – such great happiness that I cannot think of it without trembling, and scarcely dare to believe in it.

Then it is true that you love me? Tell me, can I trust in this enchanting idea? Don’t you think that I shall end by becoming insane of joy if ever I can pass the whole of my life at your feet, sure making you as happy as I shall be myself, sure of being adored by you as you are adored by me? How happy you make me. Adieu, I shall pass a very happy night, dreaming of you.

Be seeing you. Soon.