Saturday, February 26:
Nothing from outside — or inside, either, for R. is unwell and cannot work; I am also indisposed, but I give the children their lessons. In the afternoon a letter from my mother; I go out to order some things for R.’s birthday. Spring is coming.
When I express to R. my joy over our budding hyacinths and tell him that watching a flower grow means almost more to me than contemplating a work of art, he laughs and says: “Yes, beside the hyacinths what does that head of Schiller look like? Like a flowerpot.”
Much delight in Robinson Crusoe with Loulou.