Spring: -I- -II- -III-
The Stamp Album: -IV- -V- -VI- -VII- -VIII- (IX) -X- -XI- -XII-
In the Municipal Park: -XIII- -XIV- -XV- -XVI-
Springtime Twilight: -XVII-
The Villa: -XVIII- -XIX- -XX- -XXI- -XXII- -XXIII- -XXIV- -XXV- -XXVI- -XXVII-
Bianka’s Lineage: -XXVIII- -XXIX- -XXX- -XXXI- -XXXII- -XXXIII-
Hiatus: -XXXIV- -XXXV- -XXXVI- -XXXVII-
Finale: -XXXVIII- -XXXIX- -XL-
IX
I HAD many reasons to suppose that this book was intended for me. Many signs pointed to the fact that it was destined for me as a special duty, a personal mission and lieutenancy. I realised, when it came down to it, that no one else considered himself to be its owner. Even Rudolf, who had only served it. It was, as a matter of fact, something alien to him. He was like a reluctant and lazy serf with the obligation of a corvée. At times jealousy flooded his heart with bitterness. He internally mutinied against his role as the steward of a treasure which no longer belonged to him. He gazed enviously at the reflection of faraway worlds wandering across my face in a quiet scale of colours. Only mirrored in my features could he perceive the remote gleam of those pages, in which his soul took no part.
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