Swedish flag, which Torp generally suspends above her bed, in
remembrance of Heaven knows who. I gave myself the pleasure of
surprising Jeanne, by bestowing upon her my green _crêpe de Chine_. In
future grey and black will be my only wear.

After the obligatory goose, and the inevitable Christmas dishes, I spent
the evening reading the letters with which "my friends" honour me
punctiliously.

Without seeing the handwriting, or the signature, I could name from the
contents alone the writer of each one of them. They all write about the
honours which have befallen Joergen Malthe: a hospital here; a palace of
archives there. What does it matter to me? I would far rather they
wrote: "To-day a motor-car ran over Joergen Malthe and killed him on the
spot."

I have arrived at that stage.

But to-night I will not think about him; I would rather try to write to
Magna Wellmann. I may be of some use to her. In any case I will tell her
things that it will do her good to hear. She is one of those who take
life hard.




DEAR MAGNA WELLMANN,

It is with great difficulty that I venture to give you advice at this
moment. Besides, we are so completely opposed in habit, thought, and