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before the end of this year; we have spent New
Year’s day in a churchyard.’
Some weeks later, she was again on her way
to Stockholm. This journey, which she had
always detested, was this time not only to be the
most painful she had ever made, but also the
most fatal. Her heart bleeding with the bitter
pain of parting, feeling that these constant
separations would kill her, she sat in the railway
carriage shivering with cold. What a contrast
between the mild, fragrant atmosphere she had
left and the biting frost of the northern winter!
She detested cold and darkness as intensely as
she loved warmth and sunshine. And then,
instead of taking the most comfortable and
direct route to Stockholm from Berlin, where
she had spent some days, she chose a very
round-about way. She had heard that there
was an epidemic of smallpox in Copenhagen,
and, having a horror of this disease, she did not
want to run the risk of spending a night there.
So she chose the long, troublesome route across
the Danish islands. The constant changes on
this line, as well as the bad weather, probably
gave her the severe cold she caught on this
journey. In Fredericia, where she arrived late
at night, she could not take a porter for want of
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