The state of my affairs, which was getting ever worse and worse,
was slightly improved by the settlement of this matter. May and
June had gone by, and during these months our troubles had grown
steadily more serious. The lovely season of the year, the
stimulating country air, and the sensation of freedom following
upon my deliverance from the wretchedly paid musical hack-work I
had had to do all the winter, wrought their beneficial effects on
me, and I was inspired to write a small story entitled Ein
glucklicher Abend. This was translated and published in French in
the Gazette Musicale. Soon, however, our lack of funds began to
make itself felt with a severity that was very discouraging. We
felt this all the more keenly when my sister Cecilia and her
husband, following our example, moved to a place quite close to
us. Though not wealthy, they were fairly well-to-do. They came to
see us every day, but we never thought it desirable to let them
know how terribly hard-up we were. One day it came to a climax.
Being absolutely without money, I started out, early one morning,
to walk to Paris--for I had not even enough to pay the railway
fare thither--and I resolved to wander about the whole day,
trudging from street to street, even until late in the afternoon,
in the hope of raising a five-franc piece; but my errand proved
absolutely vain, and I had to walk all the way back to Meudon
again, utterly penniless.

When I told Minna, who came to meet me, of my failure, she
informed me in despair that Hermann Pfau, whom I have mentioned
before, had also come to us in the most pitiful plight, and
actually in want of food, and that she had had to give him the
last of the bread delivered by the baker that morning. The only
hope that now remained was that, at any rate, my lodger Brix, who