What am I saying? I am delirious, feverish. Oh God, have mercy on me!
Yes, you are my support, the stable earth beneath my feet, my hope, my joy, my happiness, my all! I do not know how these halting words of mine can be expected to convey my thoughts to your mind, but this indeed is truly and sincerely meant: that you are to me the noblest, most sincere, most generous of men. I believe this, and have absolute confidence in your power to frustrate the evil fate which holds me in its grip.
My dearly beloved, you were quite charming just now, and you are perfectly right when you say that there is an element of vanity in your nobility of conduct; for nothing could be more becoming than the elegant and dignified manner in which you raised me just now from my knees. You were really great. You were a king!
My darling little Toto, _chéri!_ I am going to bed now, because I am not certain that you will come early enough to take me out; and, after all, you are not the sort of man to be scandalised by finding a woman in bed, especially ...
I am always wishing I were a great actress, because, if my soul and intellect were equal to yours, another link would be forged between us; but I wish it still more at such a time as this, for I should then be able to relieve you of the annoyance of being at the mercy of an old woman, whose conceit has made her aggressive.[63]
I need not finish this letter, for here you are!
It is long after 11 o'clock. I am no longer expecting you for a walk, but I still hope to see you this evening. I write you these few lines as an apology for the disappointment I feel each time you fail me. I am miserable, but not angry; I shed tears, but do not reproach you; I am often much to be pitied, but I never cease loving you to distraction. If only you would believe this, I think I could bear my invidious position with more resignation. I am afraid you misapprehend my love, and this anxiety often makes the days seem long and sad.
But I must not forget that you are working and worn out, and that you have neither strength nor leisure to listen, that is to say, to read of my worries.
Here you are! I am finishing this letter more untidily even than usual. Luckily one's character, and, more important still, one's heart, are not exclusively interpreted by one's handwriting.