Sunday night, January, 1843.

As for me, I was not very tired, and yet when I followed on the map the course of our peregrinations, I see that we should both have been worn out. The reason is, that happiness gives me strength, while from you it takes it away. Wer besser liebt? I dined out, and later went to a ball. I could not go to sleep for a long time, thinking of our walk.

You are right in saying that it was a dream. But is it not a great blessing to be able to dream when one wishes? Since you are the dictator, it is for you to say when you care to dream again. You say we were not considerate of each other. I do not understand. Is it because I made you walk too far? But how could we do otherwise? So far as I am concerned, I am perfectly satisfied with the way you treated me, and I should compliment you even more, if I did not fear that compliments might make you less kind in the future.

As for our follies, think no more about them; that is our prerogative. When you are inclined to find fault with anything, ask yourself if you would really and truly prefer the contrary. I should like you to answer this question frankly. But frankness is not one of your most conspicuous virtues.

You once ridiculed me, and took in an uncomplimentary sense what I said one day about sleepiness, or, rather, the lethargy that sometimes overcomes one too happy to find words in which to express his emotion. I noticed yesterday that you were under the influence of that drowsiness, which is well worth waiting for. I might in my turn have reproached you for your own reproaches; but I was too happy to disturb my happiness.

Good-bye, dear friend, but not for long, I hope.