e as daisies. When I
go out they flutter round me like a swarm of butterflies. Those that
fall into the water disappear like shooting stars, leaving no trace
behind.

The glass roof of my bedroom is as heavy as a coffin-lid. I sleep with
my window open, and when there comes a blast of wind my eyes are filled
with snow. This morning, when I woke, my pillow-case was as wet as
though I had been crying all night.

Torp already sees us in imagination snowed up and receiving our food
supplies down the chimney. She is preparing for the occasion. Her hair
smells as though she had been singeing chickens, and she has
illuminated the basement with small lamps and red shades edged with
pearl fringes.

Jeanne is equally enchanted. When she goes outside without a hat her
hair looks like a burning torch against the snow. She does not speak,
but hums to herself, and walks more lightly and softly than ever, as
though she feared to waken some sleeper.

... I remember how Malthe and I were once talking about Greece, and he
gave me an account of a snowstorm in Delphi. I cannot recall a word of
his description; I was not listening, but just thinking how the snow
would melt when it fell upon his head.

He has fulfilled my request not to write. I have not had a line since
his only letter came. And yet....

* * * * *

I have burnt his letter.

I have burnt his letter. A few ashes are all that remain to me.

It hurts me to look at the ashes. I cannot make up my mind to throw them
away.

I have got rid of the ashes. It was harder than I thought. Even now I
am restless.

* * * * *

I am glad the letter is destroyed. Now I am free at last. My temptations
were very natural.

The last few days I have spent in bed. Jeanne is an excellent nurse. She
makes as much fuss of me as though I were really ill, and I enjoy it.

* * * * *

The Nirvana of age is now beginning. In the morning, when Jeanne brushes
my hair, I feel a kind of soothing titillation which lasts all day. I do
not trouble about dressing; I wear no jewellery and never look in the
glass.

Very often I feel as though my thoughts had come to a standstill, like a
watch one has forgotten to wind up. But this blank refreshes me.

Weeks have gone by since I wrote in my diary. Several times I have
tried to do so; but when I have the book in front of me, I find I have
nothing to set