Wednesday, 19 November 1873

We go to see the outfits at Kingsbury's; they do not please me -- they smell of the Lyon Company, and there is an English accent about them, the whole thing scented by the Bon Marche. It is cool, grey, good; I am fresh too, and pretty (brown dress, black hat, good). We leave Maman and my aunt at the station and go with Dina to fetch roses for those French people whom Maman and my aunt are seeing off to Monaco. We arrive with the flowers when the train has almost left. One must ask the stationmaster's permission to pass. I run to ask (he is an old man we have known since the war); I wanted to say one word to pass more quickly, but as always I said twenty, and so fast that he and I were laughing as I flew toward the carriage. The flowers delivered, we go to fetch Hitchcock and Bete; we go again to the Howards' to ask the time and the place where we are to meet tomorrow for a walk with Plantus. I find only Aggie, who practised. I tell her what is needed, spin her several times in the air, and we set off again. On the way we meet Mrs. Howard; she tells us what we need. Helene and Lise are with her. Helene is pretty; it is above all her complexion that makes her beautiful.

^[In English in the original.]
We walked a quarter of the promenade, Dina and I sharing it between us, and met the Mouchys, who recognised me and both turned round with such amiable faces. I looked away so as not to laugh. I am sure they are charming; they lodge in our alley, Villa Flori. I go to order ices for today's dinner. I am beginning to adore cherries, because his jockeys wear cherry.
The lady in the jacket and her husband arrived today; I saw them at the station. The husband resembles Hamilton, but he has the look of being crushed by his wife, who has a rigid air and the expression of a butter-wouldn't-melt. But this man is a perfect Hamilton in fifteen years. Hamilton too will be crushed by his wife. This horde, this Areopagus from Baden, all crawling towards London to attend the ceremony by which the Duke of Hamilton will become a respectable man (for two years). That is to say, I am furious about it. To snatch from me thus what I had most... basta. It is ridiculous of me! Am I mad.........

^["Rigid" in English in the original. "Basta" in Italian in the original.]
Maman and my aunt are jealous of Helene on my behalf, and try to persuade themselves that I am as pretty as she (just like me). I read it so clearly in their eyes, and even in the carriage, my aunt, looking at me, says:
"You would be pretty if your manners and your impetuosity..."
It was like a kind of continuation of her thought.
What can I do? If I could, I would very quickly have made myself beautiful, adorable, the most beautiful in the world. I have my voice; I believe I have damaged it. Oh! My God, preserve it! Do not let it perish. It is my fortune, my happiness, my beauty. A beautiful voice is everything. I am not bad-looking, and with a fine voice, even pretty. Forgive my ambition! Enlarge, embellish, and preserve my voice. Oh my God!
[In the margin: The Sabatiers have arrived.]
I find myself so pretty this evening that I cannot tear myself from the mirror; why am I not always thus! Truly I am at this moment as pretty as Helene. My face does not burn, but I am pink, fresh.