any certainty. I am always walking in the dark. To my philosophical
and social "I do not know" there is now added a personal
consideration, far more serious; for this "I do not know" threatens my
very life.

I forged myself the chain which binds me to Aniela, and there is no
hope whatever that it ever will be broken. I love her despairingly,
and it is a question whether my love be not a disease. If I were
younger, less shattered in mind and nerves,--in short, of a more
normal disposition,--I might, seeing the hopelessness, try to break
that chain. As it is, I do not make even an effort. I love as a man
with diseased nerves, a man who is close upon mania; love as old
men do, clinging to love with all their might, as it is for them
a question of life. Thus one may cling to a branch overhanging a
precipice.

This one thing has blossomed in my life, consequently its growth is so
out of all proportion. A phenomenon like this is easy to understand
and will repeat itself the oftener, the more people there are like me;
that is, hyper-analytical sceptics inclined to hysteria, with a great
nothingness in their souls, and a strong neurosis in their veins. This
modern product of our epoch, drawing to its end, may not love at all,
or may look upon love as mere licentiousness; but if it happen that
all the forces of one's life centre in one feeling, and come under the
sway of his neurosis, the predilection will become as ineradicable as
any other chronic disease. Physiologists have not fully understood
this, still less novelists, who occupy themselves with the analysis of
the modern human soul.

Vienna, 25 August.

We arrived to-day at Vienna. On the way I listened to a conversation
between my aunt and Pani Celina, of which I took note, as it seemed to
make an extraordinary impression upon Aniela. We four were alone in
the railway carriage; we were discussing the portrait, and especially
the question whether the white dress would not have to be abandoned,
as the making of it would take up too much time. Suddenly Pani Celina,
whose mind is full of reminiscences and dates, which she quotes in and
out of season, turned to Aniela and said:--

"It is just two months to-day since your husband arrived at Ploszow,
is it not?"

"I believe so," replied Aniela.

At the same instant she grew very red and tried to hide her confusion
by taking down one of her bags from the rack. The blush had not gone
from her face when she turned roun