. But no, no, not a word! Toward evening I returned home. For the most part lay on my bed.

NOVEMBER 13

WELL! Let us see! The writing is fairly legible, but still there seems to be something doggish about it. Let us read:

“Dear Fidèle, I cannot get accustomed to your middle-class name. Could not they have given you a better one? Fidèle, Rose—what vulgar taste! However, this is only by the way. I am so glad we had this idea of starting a correspondence.”

The letter is very correctly written. The spelling, and even the punctuation, are quite right. To tell the truth, our Chief of Section would have been hard put to it to write as well as this, for all his talk of having been at a university. Let us go on:

“It seems to me, that to share one’s thoughts, one’s feelings, and one’s impressions with another is one of the greatest blessings on earth.”

Hum! an idea borrowed from a work translated from the German. I forget the title.

“I speak from experience, although I have not seen much of the world beyond the gates of our house. Is not my life spent in comfort and in plenty? My young mistress, whom Papa calls Sophie, is passionately fond of me.”

Oh, oh! But no, no, not a word!

“Papa, too, often fondles me. I am given tea and coffee with cream. Ah, ma chère, I must tell you that I find no pleasure in the big, gnawed bones our Polkan feeds on in the kitchen. Bones are nice only when they are those of game, and then only if the marrow has not been sucked out already. It is delicious to mix sauces, if only they contain no capers or green stuff; but I know nothing more disgusting than the habit of giving dogs little balls of bread. Some one at the table, who has been touching all sorts of nasty things with his hands, starts rolling up bread with those hands, calls you up, and thrusts the ball into your mouth. It would be impolite to refuse, and you have to eat it: whatever the repulsion you feel, you have to eat it.”

What damned nonsense! As though there were nothing more suitable to write about. Let us turn the page, and see if there is anything less silly.

“. . . it will be a pleasure for me to keep you informed of all our news. I have already alluded to the principal gentleman here, whom Sophie calls Papa. He is a very singular man.”

Ah, here we are at last! I expected that; they have their political views of everything. Let us see what she has to say about Papa:

“. . . a very singular man. As a rule he is silent, and speaks very seldom. But last week he never stopped saying to himself: ‘Shall I get it, or shall I not?’ He would take a slip of paper into one hand, and close the other hand empty and say: ‘Shall I get it, or shall I not?’ Once he asked me: ‘What do you think, Madgie, shall I get it, or shall I not?’ I couldn’t for the life of me understand what he meant, so I sniffed at his boot and walked away. A week later, ma chère, Papa came in beaming with happiness.