When there is no one by, Walpurga always addresses me as "Countess," and treats me with the deference she deems me entitled to.
Everything seems reversed. At one time, I used to address him familiarly in private, and in public--
Ah! that one memory forever thrusts itself in my way!
If I were to become sensitive, it would be the most terrible thing that could happen to me. Perhaps I am so, already. The sensitive being is as one unarmed among those who are fully armed, as one unveiled where all the rest are masked.
I will, I must be strong!
Walpurga brought me some flower-pots to-day, with rosemary, geranium and oleander.
Hansei had brought them from the place of a great doctor who, he says, lives at some distance from here, in the valley. His gardener is allowed to sell plants, and Walpurga brought them to me, saying: "You've always had flowers about you, and these will last through the winter."
These few plants make me happy. The flower does not ask what sort of a pot it is in, so long as it gets its share of sunshine and rain. What enjoyment do those who dwell in the palace have, of the hot-house flowers? They neither planted nor tended them: they are strangers to each other.