On Thursday, the 15th, I wrote in my diary: Giers went off again last night about 10 o’clock, and Schweninger and Ohlen left at noon to-day. I took lunch with the Prince’s family, Count William being also present. The Prince, who, by the way, now observes great moderation in diet and drinks only the lightest wines, read despatches, and gave Rantzau instructions for replying to them. The subjects were Bulgarian affairs, and the North Sea and Baltic Canal. I then retired to my room to work, and afterwards made an excursion to the Aumühl. As I was about to return I saw the Chief coming towards me in a carriage. When he recognised me he reached out both hands towards me from a distance, left the carriage, and walked back with me to the mill. (I therefore fancy that he cannot have been so very angry with me.) He described to me a pretty pathway through the woods on the other side of the streamlet, saying: “I know you are also a lover of lonely country walks.” Yesterday evening over our coffee, after Giers had left, he also said: “I always feel happiest in my top-boots, striding through the heart of the forest, where I hear nothing but the knocking and hammering of the woodpecker, far away from your civilisation.” Again at work with the Chancellor from 4 o’clock onwards. He told me his wife had said: “The doctor may be very clever and amiable, but all the same you should be on your guard at table when he is present. He always sits there with his ears cocked, writes everything down, and then spreads it abroad.” She herself, however, in her simple way, forgot to keep on her guard to-day. While seated on her right at dinner my napkin accidentally dropped, and, lo and behold! her Serene Highness, the lady of the house, bent down for it before I could prevent her! I felt that I had been fearfully awkward.