Tuesday, 8 April 1873

Fine weather.
At the promenade (blue dress, smart) — a fair number of people, in comparison with what there is in Nice.
Dina bores me with the young man who gave me sweets at the carnival — I learned his name at the pigeon shooting: de Casa Play. He interests me like last year's snow — that is the pure truth — and it bores me to be bored.
He is thin, dark, short — that is enough not to please me.
[Written across the page: He made Dina blush, and she blamed me for it.]
Besides, do I not belong to the Duke? I love him — him alone. I must believe what I write, for I speak the pure truth and I have no need to dissemble.
Today a rather good promenade.... The Misses Shipinsky and Galve with the son of Princess Souvoroff, on horseback
[Three lines cancelled]