Good heavens, what can that girl be doing here?

She does not seem made for the celibate life of a desert island. Yet I
cannot set up a footman to keep her company. I will not have men's eyes
prying about my house, I have had enough of that.

A manservant--that would mean love affairs, squabbles, and troubles; or
marriage, and a change of domestics. No, I have a right to peace, and I
will secure it. The worst that could happen to me would be to find
myself reduced to playing whist with Jeanne and Torp. Well, why not?

Torp spends all her evenings playing patience on the kitchen
window-sill. Perhaps she is telling her fortune and wondering whether
some good-looking sailor will be wrecked on the shores of her desert
island.

Meanwhile Jeanne goes about in silk stockings. This rather astonishes
me. Lillie reproved me for the pernicious custom. Are they a real
necessity for Jeanne, or does she know the masculine taste so well?

* * * * *

From all the birch trees that stand quivering around the house a golden
rain is falling. There is not a breath of wind, but the leaves keep
dropping, dropping. This morning I stood on the little balcony and
looked out over the forest. I do not know why or wherefore, but such a
sense of quiet came over me. I seemed to hear the words: "and behold it
was very good." Was it the warm russet tint of the trees or the profound
perfume of the woods that induced this calm?