I am unable to sleep, and am as cross as a bear. There are several things I should like to say about your letter, but I shall say none of them, on account of my bad humour, or rather, I shall try to restrain it a little. Your distinction between the two _egos_ is very pretty, and is a proof of your profound selfishness. You love only yourself, and that is why you feel a sort of affection for the _ego_ which resembles yours. Several times, day before yesterday, I was shocked to see this. I was thinking of it sadly enough, while you were completely absorbed in admiring the trees. You are right to enjoy travelling on the railroad. In a few days it will be possible to go to Rouen and to Orléans in three hours. Why should we not go to see Saint Ouen? Yet what could be more beautiful than the woods where we were the other day? Only, I think you should have remained there longer. When one has sufficient imagination to give a plausible explanation for that branch of ivy, one should not be at a loss for occupation to last some time. I wonder if you have that ivy in your hair this evening? If you have, I am sure that it will add to your coquettishness. I am so vexed with you that you will think, it may be, that the _I_ which you admire is too much in evidence. In fact, I am thinking seriously of putting into execution the threat I made you one day. How did you enjoy the fireworks? I was at the house of an “Excellency” who has a lovely garden, from where we had a good view of them. The crowning piece was fine. They are really far more wonderful than a volcano, for art is always more beautiful than nature. Good-bye. Try to think of me occasionally. Our walks have now become a part of my life, and I can hardly realise how I lived without them. It seems to me you take them very philosophically. But how will it be when we see each other no longer? Six months ago we resumed our conversation at the very same point where it had been interrupted. Shall we do the same again? I have an indefinable fear that I shall find you changed. Every time we meet you are enveloped in an armour of ice, which melts only after a quarter of an hour. By the time I return you will have amassed a veritable iceberg. Well, it is better not to cross the bridge until you come to it. Let us continue our dreams. Should you suppose a Roman capable of saying pretty things, and of showing affection? I will show you Monday some Latin verses, which you shall translate for yourself, and which fit our habitual disputes like a glove. You shall see that the ancients are a great deal better than your Wilhelm Meister. LXVI _Wednesday, June, 1843._ Your letter was so kind and affectionate that it has blown away the last remaining cloud of the recent storm. But I feel that we shall not be sure of having forgotten it until we have buried our quarrel beneath other memories.