w the word to make one poor
inferior Marie blossom out?

II

When I am old I shall warm myself at the rich shining vision of the
first days of my love. I shall hold out the dry sticks of my arms. I
shall beg for a little fire, a little sap. I shall return to the present
with feebly beating heart and faltering step.

Poor withered old woman, you do not remember; and others will bestow
upon you the charity of showing you a picture of lovers. You see us as
we, wife and husband, used to embrace, how I leapt to his side, how his
mouth clung to the fruits of my cheeks, and how we laughed a matchless
laughter. Well, that is enough for you, return to your winter, to the
virgin plain of your old age, to your years perched precipitously over
death.

Am I the first by any chance to hide the truth from you?

The truth of to-day has no brilliance or halo. My joy in being a young
bride is not at all what I used to fancy it would be.

The dominant motive of my life at present, its great preoccupation, is
by no means to invent new words of love. It is to give battle to the
existence that one buys--buys with pennies and infinite pains.

We are poor. As we each earn our own living, we have decided that I
shall manage the budget for both. It is my job to concoct the meals; and
they must be wholesome, pleasing to the eye, intelligently planned,
tasty. The house must be bright, beautiful, convenient, cozy, stamped
with an air of prosperity. Time has to be economized, a ceaseless
tyranny must be exercised over things, nothing may be neglected, order
must be adhered to slavishly, hygienic principles followed vigilantly.
And lastly, all these things, which are everything, must be accomplished
successfully, and so successfully that once caught and conquered they
will come easily.

If only I had the money with which to fare forth to battle, it might be
easy, but the sum at my disposal is about enough for a doll's budget.
You could hold it on the tip of a knife; it is inexorably minute.

Besides, girl that I am, I do not possess overly much of that courageous
ingenuity and imagination which go so far, nor of the determination
which clenches its fists and stares a sombre defiance.

Love? Why does one never foresee that there will be accounts and money
cares, so important and so tormenting, and at the very start? Why
doesn't one know that these things take precedence over love, over
everything in daily life?

You have to get up to d