* * * * *
Early in the morning she knocked at my door to ask how I had slept. Her tenderness is positively wonderful. I should never have believed that she could be so tender.
* * * * *
She has now been gone for over four hours. I have long since finished the letters, and am now sitting in the gallery, looking down the street to see whether I cannot discover her carriage in the distance. I am a little worried about her, and yet I know there is no reason under heaven why I should doubt or fear. However, a feeling of oppression weighs me down, and I cannot rid myself of it. It is probably the sufferings of the past days, which still cast their shadows into my soul.
* * * * *
She is back, radiant with happiness and contentment.
“Well, has everything gone as you wished?” I asked tenderly, kissing her hand.
“Yes, dear heart,” she replied, “and we shall leave to-night. Help me pack my trunks.”
* * * * *
Toward evening she asked me to go to the post-office and mail her letters myself. I took her carriage, and was back within an hour.