nights; another time, the opposite.

Now Nature gives me her support once more. The frightful spell of rain
is interrupted by fine cold days. We live in the midst of beautiful
frost and snow; the hard earth gives us a firm footing.

My little grade gets me some solitude. I no longer have my happy walks
by night, but I have them in the day; my exemption from the hardest work
gives me time to realise the beauty of things.

Yesterday, an unspeakable sunset. A filmy atmosphere, with shreds of
tender colour; underneath, the blue cold of the snow.

Dear mother, it is a night of home-sickness. These familiar verses came
to me in the peace:

'Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble
Au pays qui te ressemble.'

Yes, Beaudelaire's _Invitation au voyage_ seemed to take wing in the
exquisite sky. Oh, I was far from war. Well, to return to earthly
things: in coming back I nearly missed my dinner.


_January 20, evening._

Acceptation always. Adaptation to the life which goes on and on, taking
no notice of our little postulations.