Monday, April 5:
I receive several calls in connection with the church carpet, and R. begins a long letter to the King. Splendid spring weather, of which I take advantage to drive with the children to the Fantaisie. Memories of our lovely days there.
At lunch today R. recalled Tribschen and our splendid life there and wondered whether our greatest happiness was now behind us. Thoughts of the dear people who behaved so well toward us in our cocooned existence, above all Marie Muchanoff!
Telegram that Betty Schott is dead! Another living thread snapped forever. In the evening, Gfrörer on miracles. (I wrote to Prof. Rohde, who sent me a nice letter; R. regrets that his acquaintance with these young people has thrown them right off their course, when otherwise they would perhaps be living quite contentedly as university professors.)