I must admit that her image is never out of my mind, and indeed I may almost say I have begun writing a letter to you with the object of having a reason for thinking and talking about her. I hear the tramp and neighing of horses; it’s my carriage being got ready. I am going to see them. My coachman has given up asking me where to drive to, when I get into my carriage--he takes me straight off to the Priemkovs’. A mile and a half from their village, at an abrupt turn in the road, their house suddenly peeps out from behind a birch copse.… Each time I feel a thrill of joy in my heart directly I catch the glimmer of its windows in the distance. Schimmel (the harmless old man comes to see them from time to time; the princes H----, thank God, have only called once) … Schimmel, with the modest solemnity characteristic of him, said very aptly, pointing to the house where Vera lives: ‘That is the abode of peace!’ In that house dwells an angel of peace.… Cover me with thy wing, Still the throbbing of my heart, And grateful will be the shade To the enraptured soul.… But enough of this; or you’ll be fancying all sorts of things. Till next time … What shall I write to you next time, I wonder?--Good-bye! By the way, she never says ‘Good-bye,’ but always, ‘So, good-bye!’--I like that tremendously.--Yours, P. B. _P.S._--I can’t recollect whether I told you that she knows I wanted to marry her. SIXTH LETTER From the SAME to the SAME M---- VILLAGE, _August 10, 1850_.