In the Afternoon.

Truly this is a disastrous day. I wish it were past. Who can tell what
the evening may bring!

I went out with the foolish hope of meeting Morrik, instead of whom, I
encountered all the strange though well known faces in the winter
garden. I can generally now pass them with indifference, but they were
this day again to wound me deeply.

I perceived that they laid their heads together and whispered as I went
by. On one of the benches sat the young _chronique scandaleuse_ whom I
have long ceased to bow to, as she tosses her head whenever I come near
her. The place beside her was the only unoccupied one, but hardly had I
sat down, when up she started and moved towards another bench, begging
two ladies to make room for her. The blood rushed to my face but I was
not conquered. At last the life preserver, who had not deigned to
address a word to me for weeks past, rustled into the arbour. This time
her heart was too full; she came up to me and said, so loudly that
every one could hear her, "Well my dear, I suppose we are to
congratulate you. The young Pole has bequeathed to you, his large
fortune. Poor young man! To be sure you always kept _him_ at a great
distance. It is no wonder that he soon died. It is really quite
touching that even after his death he offered his broken heart to you."

"You are mistaken," I said. "I have not accepted the legacy which was
only left to me by the error of an unsound mind. But even if it had
been clearly the intention of the deceased to appoint me his heiress, I
would not have accepted it. I am not moved, either by the kindness, or
the malevolence of strangers, but generally turn my back on both." Then
I quietly read on. There was a great silence in the arbour, and I could
hear the quicker breathing of the fat old lady without nerves, as well
as that of the little lady who hates me. I did not take any further
notice of what they whispered and tittered around me, only I several
times distinguished the name of Morrik, purposely pronounced very
distinctly. Even that cannot hurt me. But as I walked home, shivering
in the damp foggy air, and feeling inwardly as sunless and gloomy as
the sky was outwardly. I should have liked a good hearty cry. I feel so
weary, that not even tears will flow. Life, happiness, sorrow,
everything, seems stagnant within me.

The 25th November.

And now this! this verily