he whole household working for his comfort, and he takes it as the most natural thing in the world, that I, as well as the maid, think only of waiting on him and giving him pleasure. But it suits him to be a turk and he is the most amiable tyrant. When he is resting in languorous convalescence on the couch, and I bring now one thing and now another, for which he gratefully thanks me, kissing my hand, it would not matter what his command would be, I should, without the slightest hesitation, obey it.
I HAVE travelled with him to fairy-tale land, which is only a two hours' journey from the old statue in the King's Square. I don't know the real name of the place, and in regard to its position, I can only say that one starts driving along the King's Road, and in a couple of hours one is there. But on the other hand I know exactly what it looks like. A white, thatched cottage, on the outskirts of the forest on the edge of the lake. The entrance to the house is from the wood through a big open verandah covered with Virginia creeper, and in the gable and facing the lake is a balcony of green painted wood. An old peasant woman stands in the verandah courtesying. During the day the sun shines from a cloudless sky, and at night it is full moon. Across the lake, in the moonlight, glides a white boat, from which comes faint singing of young voices.
