Wednesday, April 21:
Said good night in the morning, since we did not take our leave of each other yesterday. Fine weather, but not warm enough to sit in the garden. I let the children off from their lessons so that they can run around a lot.
I miss what has now become my habitual occupation; instead, wrote letters, preparations for R.’s birthday. Besides that, a lot of furnishing bothers and a new maidservant.
In the afternoon a telegram from Claire, “Some hope. Mother better,” followed by a letter revealing that my mother had been on the brink of death. My thoughts weigh heavily.
The children are good. In the evening finished Plato’s Critias, with much enjoyment. R. also worked a little in the morning in spite of all the disturbances in the house.