Yet how beautiful she is!  A few days ago, when she came down the steps leading into the garden, swaying lightly on those magnificent hips, “I thought I should drop,” as the poet Slowacki says.  Decidedly I am under the sway of two powers,—­the one attracting, the other repelling.  I want to go to Switzerland, and I want to go back to Rome.  I do not know how it will end.  Ribot rightly says that a desire to do a thing is only a consciousness, not an act of volition; still less is it an act of volition to have a twofold desire.  I received a letter from my lawyer, who wants to see me about the affairs of the succession; these are mere formalities, and they could arrange things without me, did I feel disinclined to move.  But it will serve as a pretext.  For some time I have liked Laura even less than formerly.  It is for no fault of hers, as she is always the same, but as it happens, I have transferred to her some of the dislike I have for myself.  At the time of my inward struggles I turned to her not only for peace, but also for a kind of wilful degradation; now for that very reason I feel displeased with her.  She did not even know of the storm raging in my breast; besides, what could it matter to her, as it was nothing which could serve her as an ornament?  She only noticed that I was feverish and more impulsive than usual; she asked a little after the cause, but without insisting too much.  Perhaps after all the attraction here will win and I shall not depart; in any case, I am going to tell her that I am obliged to go.  I am curious to know how she will take it, still more curious as I can imagine it very well.  I suspect that with all her love for me, which is very like my love for her, she does not really like me,—­that is, if she ever takes the trouble to like or to dislike anybody.  Our minds have certain points of resemblance, but thousands of contradictions.

I am terribly tired.  I cannot help thinking of the sensation my letter has made at Ploszow.  I think incessantly of this even when with Laura; I see before me continually Aniela and my aunt.  How happy Laura is in her everlasting repose!  I have such difficulty to bear with my own self.

I shall be glad of a change.  Peli, though a seaside resort, is very empty.  The heat is quite exceptional.  The sea is calm; no waves wash against the shore; it seems exhausted and breathless from the heat.  At times the wind rises, but it is a suffocating blast, that raises clouds of white dust which covers the palms, fig-trees, and myrtles, and penetrates through the blinds into the house.  My eyes ache as the walls reflect a glaring sun, and in the daytime it is impossible to look at anything.

To Switzerland or to Rome, but away from here.  It seems anywhere it would be better than here.  We all prepare for the journey.  I have not seen Mr. Davis for four or five days.  I fancy his insanity will break out any day.  The doctor tells me the poor man challenges him to fight.  He considers this a bad sign.