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When I came out of the hospital with good Roulin I fancied that I hadn’t had anything, only afterwards did I have the feeling that I’d been ill. What can you say, I have moments when I’m twisted by enthusiasm or madness or prophecy like a Greek oracle on her tripod.
Yesterday Roulin left. It was touching to see him with his children on the last day, above all with the very little one when he made her laugh and bounce on his knees and sang for her. His voice had a strangely pure, moved timbre which to my ear contained a sweet, distressed wet-nurse’s song and something like a distant echo of the clarion of revolutionary France. He wasn’t sad, though, on the contrary, he had put on his brand-new uniform, which he’d received the same day, and everyone was making much of him.
I couldn’t pay my rent on the 1st, having a model for the whole week—I have two portraits of the same model on the go, which are more important to me than the rest. But it’s on this occasion, when I was putting my chap off till next Monday for the month’s rent,  that he said something, that he could find another tenant for the house if I hadn’t decided to keep it. Which doesn’t surprise me much, since I’ve had it repaired myself, and so it’s improved.