I am sufficiently strong for my sixty years, and, it seems, there is no power that could break my iron will.
At times I am seized with fatigue owing to their absurd mode of life.

I have not the proper rest even at night.
The consciousness that while going to bed I may absent-mindedly have forgotten to lock my bedroom door compels me to jump from my bed dozens of times and to feel the lock with a quiver of horror.
Not long ago it happened that I locked my door and hid the key under my pillow, perfectly confident that my room was locked, when suddenly I heard a knock, then the door opened, and my servant entered with a smile on his face.

You, dear reader, will easily understand the horror I experienced at this unexpected visit--it seemed to me that some one had entered my soul.

And though I have absolutely nothing to conceal, this breaking into my room seems to me indecent, to say the least.
I caught a cold a few days ago--there is a terrible draught in their windows--and I asked my servant to watch me at night.

In the morning I asked him, in jest: "Well, did I talk much in my sleep ?" "No, you didn't talk at all." "I had a terrible dream, and I remember I even cried." "No, you smiled all the time, and I thought--what fine dreams our Master must see!" The dear youth must have been sincerely devoted to me, and I am deeply moved by such devotion during these painful days.
To-morrow I shall sit down to prepare my lectures.