I will think sometimes of the fair unknown of Chur.'" "Very good," said she, "but this does not explain the letter." "We are coming to that," he continued.

"I was seated in a copse, by the roadside.

I had the blues--was profoundly weary; there are times when life weighs on me like a torturing burden.

I thought of disappointed expectations, of dissipated illusions, of the bitterness of my youth and of my future.

You passed by on the road, and I said to myself, 'There is good in life, because of such encounters, in which we catch renewed glimpses of what was once pleasant for us to see.'" "And the note ?" she asked again, in a dreamy tone.
He went on: "I never was a philosopher; wisdom consists in performing only useful actions, and I was born with a taste for the useless.