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I cannot tell which of us, mother or child, was
the happier when we met again. Now we
shall not part, at least not for some time to
come, for in the autumn she is to join me in
Stockholm. She will soon be six years old, and
is a sensible little girl for her age. People say she
resembles me very much, and I fancy I looked
like her when I was a child. My friend is very
depressed, as she has just lost her only sister.
Therefore our home is very quiet and sad. We
are surrounded by ladies, four old maids; as
they all wear deep mourning, the house seems
like a nunnery. As in a convent, eating is a
very important business here: four times a day,
tea with cakes, sweets, sugared fruits, etc., which
helps to kill the time. However, I try to bring
a little change into this monotony, so to-day
I persuaded Julia to take a drive with me, all
by ourselves. I assured her that I could drive
perfectly well, so the coachman was left at home.
And indeed we arrived all right at our
destination, but on our way home the horse shied,
the carriage was flung against a tree, and we fell
into the ditch.
‘Poor Julia hurt her foot badly, and I, the
guilty person, escaped unhurt from the
adventure. . . .’
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