Later: It is the morning of 16 May. I pray that God will stop me from going mad. That is all I have left. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past. Whilst I live here, there is just one thing to hope for, that I will not not go mad. That is, if I am not mad already. If I am sane, then it is enough to make me mad that of all the foul things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least dreadful. It is only the Count who can save me, and even then only because I am useful to him. Great God, let me be calm, otherwise I really will go mad. I am beginning to get new light on certain things which have puzzled me.

I feel as though my own brain is going out of control, as if the shock which it has received must end with its undoing. So now I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of writing things accurately must help to soothe me. The Count's mysterious warning frightened me when he gave it. It frightens me more now that I know his warning was true. In the future I shall be scared to doubt what he says!

When I had written in my diary, and fortunately put the book and pen back into my pocket, I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came into my mind, but I took pleasure in disobeying it. I was feeling sleepy, and like many people as they fall asleep I was going to do what I wanted. The soft moonlight soothed me, and the open view outside gave me a refreshing sense of freedom. I decided not to return tonight to my gloom-haunted rooms. I was going to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle hearts were sad for their men who were away in the midst of terrible wars.