Saturday, November 8:
R. had a restless night. He talked a lot in his sleep and afterward told me how, yesterday morning, he had told himself that disharmony between us was an impossibility; now a cause of dissent had arisen through his “speeches,” since, upset by the presence of other people, he sometimes did not know what he was saying.
“I am so sad,” he says, with a pale face and tears in his eyes, after we talked energetically together in the afternoon, I in particular about Heloise, and he assured me that it suited me very well! But the gloom passes, and we spend the evening gaily in conversation, half of it in finishing Kleider machen Leute, which makes us remark that Keller always rises to a sublime conclusion; we had almost feared that the story was becoming rather trivial, but then he suddenly changes direction, and the last sentence is excellent in its humor.