R. has now had two better nights, thanks (it seems) to pepsin. He works; crosses out the page he wrote during the night. I worked with Lusch and Isolde.
In the afternoon a reception at Frau Raila’s, where I met the widow of the director of the Germanic Museum, a former friend of my father’s. In the evening the children played leapfrog in the salon, the two elder ones singing in harmony during it. —
I ask R. to make me a present of the page he crossed out, and he does so, but since I forget it and leave it downstairs, he throws it into the wastepaper basket, which greatly offends me. Reproaches, reconciliation!