My poor Adelaide has gone through many vexations, with the causes of which, Madame, I am going to acquaint you. Among twelve or fifteen pensioners who are in this Convent, there is one called Mademoiselle de Celigny, who is about seventeen years old, and has a very agreeable person; in other respects, she is as ill educated as the rest, but has wit enough, when she chuses it, to conceal her faults, particularly to a girl of fifteen and a half. She took great notice of my daughter who, naturally sensible and grateful, was much pleased with her attentions. I saw plainly this connection would not suit Adelaide; but I wished it might serve her as a lesson, and I left it to her to find it out. In consequence of this design, I permitted Adelaide to ask her sometimes to breakfast, and sometimes to dine with us. As I never quitted Adelaide a moment, I found my making a third person with them was very distressing to this young Lady. One day, when we were going to take a walk, I pretended to be tired, and sat down again, telling Adelaide she might walk with Mademoiselle de Celigny for half an hour; on their return, I perceived that Adelaide looked much dissatisfied, and that she treated Mademoiselle de Celigny with great coldness. I suspected the cause of it, but I asked no questions, and we went to bed without any explanation. The next morning, when Adelaide was writing her copies, I went and made a visit to Sister Saint Helena, one of the Nuns who was a friend of mine, and who always had the news of the whole Convent before any body else … I told her my curiosity to know what it was Mademoiselle de Celigny had said to my daughter: sister Helena (who already knew the disposition of Mademoiselle de Celigny, and had given me a caution in secret respecting her) told me, that this young Lady pretended Adelaide had complained of the slavery, in which I kept her, by always following her like her shadow.