think about myself at all.  When I came down to supper to-night he was waiting in the hall, to show me the way, he said; and he watched me coming down the stairs with that look in his eyes that is such a contrast to the smart, alert efficiency of his figure and manner,—­it is so gentle, so kind.  I went into the room where they all were with a funny feeling of being safe.  I don’t even know whether Helena stared.

To-morrow the Klosters come over, and are going to stay the night, and to-morrow I may play my fiddle again.  I’ve faithfully kept my promise and not touched it.  Really, as it’s a quarter to twelve now and at midnight my week’s fasting will be over, I might begin and play it quite soon.  I wonder what would happen if I sat on my window-sill and played Ravel to the larkspurs and the stars!  I believe it would make even the Graf say something.  But I won’t do anything so unlike, as Frau Bornsted would say, what a junges Madchen generally does, but go to bed instead, into the prettiest bed I’ve slept in since I had a frilly cot in the nursery,—­all pink silk coverlet and lace-edged sheets.  The room is just like an English country-house bedroom; in fact the Grafin told me she got all her chintzes in London!  It’s so funny after my room at Frau Berg’s, and my little unpainted wooden attic at the Oberforsterei.

Good night, my blessed mother.  There are two owls somewhere calling to each other in the forest.  Not another sound.  Such utter peace.

  Your Chris.

  Koseritz, Sunday evening, July 19, 1914.

My own darling mother,

I don’t know what you’ll say, but I’m engaged to Bernd.  That’s Herr von Inster.  You know his name is Bernd?  I don’t know what to say to it myself.  I can’t quite believe it.  This time last night I was writing to you in this very room, with no thought of anything in the world but just ordinary happiness with kind friends and one specially kind and understanding friend, and here I am twenty-four hours later done with ordinary happiness, taken into my lover’s heart for ever.

It was so strange.  I don’t believe any girl ever got engaged in quite that way before.  I’m sure everybody thinks we’re insane, except Kloster.  Kloster doesn’t.  He understands.

It was after supper.  Only three hours ago.  I wonder if it wasn’t a dream.  We were all on the terrace, as we were last night.  The Klosters had come early in the afternoon.  There wasn’t a leaf stirring, and not a sound except that lapping water against the bottom of the wall where the larkspurs are.  You know how sometimes when everybody has been talking together without stopping there’s a sudden hush.  That happened to-night, and after what seemed a long while of silence the Grafin said to Kloster, “I suppose, Master, it would be too much to ask you to play to us?”

“Here?” he said.  “Out here?”

“Why not?” she said.