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‘ Dear Ann Charlotte,—
‘Souvent femme varie,
Bien folle est qui s’y fie!’
‘If I had received your letter with the
dreadful news a few weeks ago, no doubt it
would have broken my heart, but now, to my
own shame, I must confess that on receiving
your warm and sympathising lines yesterday,
I burst out laughing. Yesterday, by the by,
was a bad day for me, for big M. left in the
evening. I hope some member of the family
has written to you about the change in our
plan, so that I need not enter upon this subject
to-day. I must say this change will be good
for me as well, for if M. had remained here,
I don’t know how I should have worked. He is
so big, so grand (as K. justly remarked in his
speech), he occupies so much room, not only
on one’s sofa, but also in one’s thoughts, that
in his presence it would be quite impossible for me
to think of anything but him. Though we have
been constantly together during the ten days
he spent in Stockholm, generally by ourselves,
and talking of nothing but ourselves, with
marvellous sincerity, I am quite incapable of
analysing my feelings for him. The best
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