Thursday, 11 September 1873

Madame Patton comes to speak to Maman. She is all distressed and anxious; they are spreading the rumour that her husband has been dismissed. It would be a true shame -- the Tolstoy woman and her ilk would triumph. Mme Patton has telegraphed the Grand Duchess and the Countess Keller. She is very worried, and her little one, whom she is nursing, is ill.
They sometimes say "Hamilton" to me, but generally it is when I am on my way out, and I flee quickly upstairs.
In the evening we go out, Paul and I, in a cab. First I ordered a hundred calling cards for Maman and made the professors' purchases. Then to the Rue de la Prefecture to collect my buttons, which were broken, and I buy an alarm clock for twenty-two francs. I come home and Maman scolds me because I went to the sea without telling her. They were in the open carriage, and it had been agreed that they would follow us.
Maman was at Monaco and, on returning, was in M. Chaussade's coupe. She knows him. He spoke of me and puts me at sixteen! He said I have superb arms. They asked where he had seen me -- at the theatre. Everyone talks about me; everyone puts me at sixteen. What an insult! How dare they speak of my arms, my bust?! Truly, it vexes me a great deal. There is no cause for it, but I feel uneasy when they say such things. Such a strange sensation.
What to do, my God, so that people do not think me grown up? For one reason only am I pleased: I must not have looked too ridiculous to Boreel.
I cannot recall without fury that Mardi Gras, when I was throwing bouquets to Mlle Kolokolzoff and at that very moment Boreel appeared in front of the carriage. I did not have time to hold back the bouquet, which fell at his feet. The mere memory of this accident enrages me; sometimes at the piano I remember it, cannot go on, and hurl insults at myself aloud. He surely thought the bouquet was for him, and he watched it fall before him with an air of indifference. Nothing can express my rage. A man (whom I did not know) will think I threw him a bouquet!
Oh! How wretched I was! If only I had intended to do it. Enough -- this memory agitates me, enrages me, drives me beside myself. That I should lower myself so! Throw a bouquet, then blush! Oh! It is simply abominable. That creature will think that... Oh! It is dreadful! If I could explain the affair to that man -- but no, it is impossible. What humiliation, my children!
It has passed, and yet at this moment as I write, I feel the affront just as keenly, and this feeling of uneasiness, of wounded pride, masters me.

Notes

In English in the original.
In English in the original.