Thursday, 8 May 1873

Fine, but windy.
At ten, to the sea; Dina, my aunt, and I bathed; Maman accompanied us (white dress, pink hat — good). Quite a number of people on the beach, no doubt. I swam well and a great deal.
At half past two, to the station to see the Howards off; many people came to see them off. Our circle was very large. Dina, Hélène, and I walked about the station. There was no one from society who remains in Nice (new dress — good). Hélène is a spoiled child, but I love her because she does not admire the views, does not profess an adoration for flowers, does not call herself sensitive or sentimental, does not compare herself to a flower (as Mlle Collignon does). She admires the views and flowers no doubt more than those who say so incessantly, for they are so occupied in showing it to others that they have no time to really feel it. My ideas are perhaps more poetical than Mlle Collignon's (who neglects her duty, makes me lose time — it revolts me; I cannot bear people without conscience!), but I do not shout it to every passerby. Those who will not understand me, I do not care for; but those I care for will understand me.
Dina affects a disinterested, languid, drowsy air; she says at every moment, when marriage is spoken of, that she wants to marry an old man, rich and stupid. Dina has the most stupidly sentimental ideas — those of Russian demoiselles. We went as far as Monte-Carlo with the Howards; I was beside Hélène. We suit each other well enough; she made me a thousand professions of friendship — not in words, like the sentimental, sweet, charming flowers, but without saying it; she said it with her eyes, her brief, sometimes even brusque words, and in speaking of indifferent things. I asked her to write to me. They are leaving for Italy. We parted from the whole family entirely amicably. How the mother adores Hélène...
Then in the hall, on the balcony, in the garden — then it was time to leave. I took Maman, who is not yet very strong, and we left at half past six.
Passing by the station, his carriage passed us. I had seen it near the station, waiting for someone, but the person had not come; the carriage left empty. I do not know if I am mistaken, but Maman recognized the carriage. I believe she has some suspicions, for I blush when they speak of him, etc., etc. No doubt the carriage was for someone else.