ases him, he walks up to him, takes off his coat and sits
down at the table, and, without saying a word, they give him food and
drink for three days.

And thus he happened to come to our house. Sometimes he cries, and
cannot tell why, but he endeavors to express himself by dumb motions.
The little pitchman declares that he cries because he can't eat any
more.

I have tried to make myself intelligible to him, but we do not
understand each other.

*

(Ash Wednesday.)--To-day, every one in the house is silent and
thoughtful. Every brow was strewn with ashes, while they repeated:
"Mortal! remember that thou art dust."

Ah! mine is a long Ash Wednesday, after a mad carnival!

In my mind's eye, I often behold the picture of the Egyptian princess.
Her garments have fallen from her nude form and, with loosened hair,
she kneels in prayer by her open grave.

When wilt thou receive me, all-merciful mother earth?

I am reminded of the grandeur of Antigone's answer to Creon, who has
just announced to her the sentence of death:

"I knew that I should die; thou only tellest me when."

*

I shall quietly bear the consequences of my actions, relying on myself,
looking for no aid, either material or spiritual, from without.

*

When the people have finished repeating the Ave Maria during the
tolling of the vesper bell, they say "Good-evening" to each other. It
is a beautiful custom, and deems to say that they have returned from
heaven unto those whom they love on earth.

*

When there is no one by, Walpurga always addresses me as "Countess,"
and treats me with the deference she deems me entitled to.

Everything seems reversed. At one time, I used to address _him_
familiarly in private, and in public--

Ah! that one memory forever thrusts itself in my way!

If I were to become sensitive, it would be the most terrible thing that
could happen to me. Perhaps I am so, already. The sensitive being is as
one unarmed among those who are fully armed, as one unveiled where all
the rest are masked.

I will, I must be strong!

*

Walpurga brought me some flower-pots to-day, with rosemary, geranium
and oleander.

Hansei had brought them from the place of a great doctor who, he says,
lives at some distance from here, in the valley. His gardener is
al