All day long I have been thinking of Malthe, and I feel so glad I have
acted as I have done. But he might have answered my letter.

Jeanne has discovered the secret of my hair. She asked permission to
dress it for me in the evening when my hair is "awake." She is quite an
artist in this line, and I let her occupy herself with it as long as she
pleased. She pinned it up, then let it down again; coiled it round my
forehead like a turban; twisted it into a Grecian knot; parted and
smoothed it down on each side of my head like a hood. She played with it
and arranged it a dozen different ways like a bouquet of wild flowers.

My hair is still my pride, although it is losing its gloss and colour.
Jeanne said, by way of consolation, that it was like a wood in late
autumn....

I should like to know whether this girl sprang from the gutter, or was
the child of poor, honest parents....

* * * * *

"Thousands of women may look at the man they love with their whole soul
in their eyes, and the man will remain as unmoved as a stone by the
wayside. And then a woman will pass by who has no soul, but whose
artificial smile has a mysterious power to spur the best of men to
painful desire...."

One day I found these words underlined in a book left open on my table.
Who left it there, I cannot say; nor whether it was underlined with the
intention of hurting my feelings, or merely by chance.