Sunday, 29 June 1873

At church (grey dress, good). There was no one — only us and the Pattons; we invited them to come to our house next Sunday. Bébé blushed on seeing Paul. We drove them in the carriage to old Mme Patton's. I wrote a letter to Hélène and all the children. At three, at the sea, there was no one. I threw myself from the pier, and then I got into a little boat, and when I was far enough out, I threw myself into the water. What a sensation, my God! For nearly two years I had not done this — and throwing myself from the boat was the first time in my life.
At home came Princess Galitzine, then Mme Teplakoff, then the Countess de Mouzay — she leaves tomorrow. Mme Galitzine dined with us; she is rather kind but touched. We all went to the concert: Maman, Galitzine, Dina, and I. The Durands passed us. Audiffret was in the carriage and — fool that I am! — I blushed! Maman saw it. We left the Princess at her house and went to fetch Mme Teplakoff; Maman had promised her to go to Monaco this evening. On the way Walitsky said the concierge calls him "Baron," and then Maman:
— Marie, and if Walitsky were a baron and rich, would you have married him?
— No, never.
— He does not please you?
— He is a very good man, but he does not please me — no!
— Wait, who then — what about Khalkionoff?
— Oh! Maman, you are pulling out the most dreadful ones!
— Well then! What about Audiffret? You would like...
— Oh! no, no, he does not please me.
— Oh! no, Audiffret pleases you a little.
— Not at all.
— Yes, a little.
— No, not at all, I assure you. I know why you think so; it is because I blushed when he passed.
— No, it is not for that; one sometimes blushes for no reason.
— Besides, you do not know who pleases me.
— Who then?
But you do not know him; you do not know anyone.
Then Dina cries out:
I know who — word of honour.
Well then, if you know, say it — say if you can guess, and then I shall tell you the truth.
Yes, I know.
Well then, say it.
— Hamilton pleases you.
I knew she would say it. Five minutes before.
Well, I have guessed: there we have the scarecrow again, the monster, the fat one.
Well yes, that is how it is; I know it.
Which Hamilton? asked Maman. The red-haired one?
Yes! said Dina.
Of course, said I.
Dina:
Well, you see, I know. It is your type — and Boreel pleases you too.
Well, and what of it? The two of them are handsome, and Hamilton is more handsome than many — he is the most handsome here.
Maman looked at me tenderly, smiling. In spite of myself, Dina knows. When we were alone, I began to chatter under the influence of our conversation. I told her how unhappy I am to blush always and everywhere. I told her that I blush at the sight of anyone. I recounted all my blushes without hiding anything. Then I said:
— You are behaving badly, Dina.
— How badly?
— That is to say — that is not what I meant to say, I meant... well!
— Well what? Finish.
— Well, the thing is, you know how susceptible I am to blushing, and now you add this Hamilton to my troubles. Now I shall blush when I see him — that wretched Hamilton.
— Oh! you blushed without that, if you please!
(Heavens! she notices everything.) I tried to reassure her, but the more I wanted to be believed, the more I told her the opposite despite myself. The fact is that I am such a great fool! A stupid creature, to whom no word is bad enough to apply. How can I have a single thought without everyone knowing it? I am very frank with Dina. She has heard me talk of Hamilton at night while I slept. We walked the whole Promenade talking of this. She asked me what I desire; I told her all my desires, except a few. But it is useless — she knows.
She teases me about Hamilton openly. "Hamilton!" she cried out very loudly, breaking the silence. She frightened me before I understood what she was saying.
I am grieved at what is happening — they will profane his name.
Tomorrow I am sure the first word from Walitsky will be Hamilton, the little duke, and mockery of every kind. And this is not the Boreel affair — I love him seriously. I do not like people to know. I like them to speak of him but without it affecting me. I am truly vexed at what has happened. Maman knows too. But after all, there is the Russian proverb: "All that happens, happens for the best." The rest is not yet known; perhaps it will still die away. I should like it to.
Dina is playing the piano — she is irritating me! Princess Galitzine was speaking of her husband at dinner; she loves him, she is in love with him, and he — the scoundrel — said:
— Madame, love whomever you wish — I do not prevent you. I want to be free; you bore me.
I shall be unhappy, for I shall love my husband always, and if he tells me I bore him, I shall die. I shall be unhappy, no doubt, for I love and shall love my whole life. There is no husband who will love always — two years, and then a cold friendship, not even that. It is dreadful!