How could I have any doubts? If not for her, for whom would princely
furs be suitable?
* * * * *
I was with her yesterday evening, reading the _Roman Elegies_ to her.
Then I laid the book aside, and improvised something for her. She
seemed pleased; rather more than that, she actually hung upon my words,
and her bosom heaved.
Or was I mistaken?
The rain beat in melancholy fashion on the window-panes, the fire
crackled in the fireplace in wintery comfort. I felt quite at home with
her, and for a moment lost all my fear of this beautiful woman; I
kissed her hand, and she permitted it.
Then I sat down at her feet and read a short poem I had written for
her.