from you. If you knew how much the longer is a day without news! It is
true I have your old letters, but the new letter has a fragrance which I
now can't do without.


_November 6._

Yesterday, without knowing why, I was a little sad: what soldiers call
_avoir le cafard_. My sadness arose from my having parted the day before
with a book of notes which I had decided to send to you in a package.
The events of the day before yesterday, albeit pacific, had so hustled
me that I was not able to attend to this unfortunate parcel as I should
have liked. Also, I was divided between two anxieties: the first, lest
the package should not reach you, and lest these notes, which have been
my life from the 1st to the 20th of October, should be lost. The second,
on the contrary, was lest it should reach you before the arrival of
explaining letters, which might seem strange to you, the sending-off
having probably been done in another name, and the cover of my copybook
bearing my directions that the notes should be forwarded to you if
necessary.

* * * * *

. . . To-day we are living in the most intimate and delicate Corot
landscape.

From the barn where we have established our outpost, I see, first, the
road with puddles left by the rain; then some tree-stumps; then, beyond
a meadow, a line of willows beside a charming running stream. In the
background, a few houses are veiled in a light mist, keeping the