The comparison of my situation with that in which I was on the 10th, when I traveled the same line in the opposite direction; the conviction that my solitude was, strictly speaking, voluntary, and that I could at any time, albeit through a resolve smacking of insubordination and a forty hours’ journey, put an end to it, made me see once more that my heart is ungrateful, dismayed, and resentful; for soon I said to myself, in the comfortable fashion of the accepted lover, that even here I am no longer lonely, and I was happy in the consciousness of being loved by you, my angel, and, in return for the gift of your love, of belonging to you, not merely in vassalage, but with my inmost heart.  On reaching the village I felt more distinctly than ever before what a beautiful thing it is to have a home—­a home with which one is identified by birth, memory, and love.  The sun shone bright on the stately houses of the villagers, and their portly inmates in long coats and the gayly dressed women in short skirts gave me a much more friendly greeting than usual; on every face there seemed to be a wish for my happiness, which I invariably converted into thanks to you.  Gray-haired Bellin’s[5] fat face wore a broad smile, and the trusty old soul shed tears as he patted me paternally on the back and expressed his satisfaction; his wife, of course, wept most violently; even Odin was more demonstrative than usual, and his paw on my coat-collar proved incontestably that it was muddy weather.  Half an hour later Miss Breeze was galloping with me on the Elbe, manifestly proud to carry your affianced, for never before did she so scornfully smite the earth with her hoof.  Fortunately you cannot judge, my heart, in what a mood of dreary dulness I used to reenter my house after a journey; what depression overmastered me when the door of my room yawned at me and the mute furniture in the silent apartments confronted me, bored like myself.  The emptiness of my existence was never clearer to me than in such moments, until I seized a book—­though none of them was sad enough for me—­or mechanically engaged in any routine work.

My preference was to come home at night, so that I could go to sleep immediately.[6] Ach, Gott!—­and now?  What a different view I take of everything—­not merely that which concerns you as well, and because it concerns you, or will concern you also (although I have been bothering myself for two days with the question where your writing-desk will stand), but my whole view of life is a new one, and I am cheerful and interested even in my work on the dike and police matters.  This change, this new life, I owe, next to God, to you, ma tres chere, mon adoree Jeanneton—­to you who do not heat me occasionally, like an alcohol flame, but work in my heart like warming fire.  Some one is knocking.

Visit from the co-director, who complains of the people who will not pay their school taxes.  The man asks me whether my fiancee is tall.