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circumstances, who had only seen her twice or
three times, but who, nevertheless, had learned
from her book to look more deeply into her life
than others, who had been her friends for many
years. Then there might be some satisfaction in
writing, something to live for after all.
We had to go to another party the same
evening, but as Sonia was constantly expecting
letters she could never stay away from the hôtel
for many hours, so we dropped in and put the
usual question to the porter, ‘Any letters?’
The next moment Sonia had grasped one and
flew upstairs with it. I followed slowly and
went to my own room, as I did not want to
disturb her; but she rushed into my room,
threw herself on my neck, burst into tears, and
exclaimed, ‘O God, I am so happy, so happy!
I cannot bear it; I die, I am so happy!’
The letter cleared up an unfortunate mistake
which had tortured her for the last few months
to such a degree that she had become a shadow
of herself. On the following night she left
Paris, in order to meet the man on whom her
whole fate now depended.
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