I ordered a cartload of plants and flowers to put along the staircase and in the rooms. Aniela's room remains exactly as it was when she occupied it. I suppose the ladies will arrive in the morning and Aniela will want to change her dress. I had a large mirror put there, and every requisite for a lady's toilet. Aniela will meet everywhere proofs of thoughtfulness, memory, and faithful love. Only now, while writing, it strikes me how much easier I feel when occupied with something, when outward activity takes me out of the enchanted circle of reflection and pondering over myself. Even driving nails into the wall for the pictures of the future museum would be better than twisting one idea around another. Why cannot I be a simple-minded man? If I had been that in times gone by I should be now the happiest man in the world. 4 June. I went to-day to invite the Sniatynskis and several other people to dinner. Sniatynski has spread the news of my founding a museum for the public, and I am at present the hero of the day. All the papers write about it, improving the occasion as usual by pitching into those that waste their substance abroad instead of doing good to the country. I know their style so well, and it amuses me. There are the usual phrases about a citizen's duties and "noblesse oblige," but it suits my purpose. I gathered the whole packet to show my aunt and Aniela. 5 June. The races have been fixed a day sooner because of to-morrow's holiday. Aniela and my aunt arrived this morning with a maid and sundry boxes containing their racing toilets. The first glance at Aniela filled me with terror. She does not look well at all; her face is wan and has lost its former warm color; it seems smaller too, and there is something misty about her that reminds me of Puvis de Chawannes' figures. My aunt and her mother do not notice it, because they see her every day; but to me, after the absence of a few days, the change is very remarkable. I am seized with contrition and sincere pity. It is evident that the inward struggle is telling upon her. If she would only end it, and follow the dictates of a heart that is mine,--a hundred times mine and pleads for me,--all her troubles would cease and happiness begin. I am getting deeper and deeper into the quicksands. It seemed to me that I knew her so well; every detail and every feature stands out before my eyes when I do not see her, and yet when I meet her, after a few days' absence, I discover a new charm, and find something new I like in her. How she satisfies my every taste, and I am deeply conscious that she is my type,--my only affinity. This consciousness gives me a belief, half mystic, half approaching the natural hypothesis, that she was meant for me. When hearing the sound of wheels, I ran down to meet her, and again had the sensation one might call falling under the spell; again the reality seemed to me more perfect than the picture I carry in my heart. She