day's milestone the light of expectancy is shimmering ahead: in growing hope and longing I pass Thursday and Friday, until Saturday's happiness shines through the night's dreams and I wake with joy in my heart.
But when on his staircase, a fear takes hold of me. How will he receive me? Will his face be bright with welcome, or will it have the expression of effort and fatigue which now and again I seem to have noticed, which perhaps is only my imagination, but which, when I am alone, sometimes stands out in my memory and fills my soul with black, foreboding clouds.
The fear cripples my joy and prevents me from being as nice and bright as I should like to. Then he often misunderstands me; I see the nervous glint in his eye, and I am sure he thinks me irritating and capricious.
But he says nothing. He drinks quickly a lot of wine, and persuades me to drink too.
Of course wine helps. A cosy well-being creeps over mind and body. All dark and gloomy thoughts disappear like mist before the sun; the silly fear vanishes, it sets the tongue moving, one feels nearer to each other, and when one sits hand in hand looking into each other's eyes, there is no longer any nervous tension, no mistake, and no suspicion, and one forgets the six other days of the week for this blessed happiness of the seventh.
Afterwards I cross-examine him. He must give
