Saturday, 22 November 1873

I see with regret. As days went on it became sadly clear that Hitchcock is an ignorant and stupid female. She knows nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing. I go out with her on foot (brown dress, black hat, fine). A splendid day. Not that sun I detest, but grey, cheerful, cool. There are many men at the promenade, but all, I think, salted olives. We have the carriage just long enough to take a turn and come back, but on the quay near Mortier we meet Maman and my aunt; we go in together, I buy nothing of course but they take several hats. I get some adorable grapes and we come home at last; near the lane I see Brunet leaving; I am ten minutes late for my lesson but I call him back and take the lesson.

^[In English in the original.]
I am so pleased that after dinner I can stay without doing anything! Everyone goes away and we are left alone with Bete. I have changed my hairstyle -- I set braids at the back very prettily, and I look much younger this way; I look the age I am.
We spend at least half an hour leaning on the hall table, chatting and looking at ourselves in the mirror. Fine amusement! We laugh, though.
We talked of cocottes -- la Pauline, etc. Every moment Bete would begin a sentence and stop, saying: What a pity you are not married, I was about to say such a thing! Then we move to the dining room and talk of husbands. A hideous and treacherous race, of the family of apes. I explained my ideas on a husband's love clearly enough (see in one of the earlier books). She says to me:
-- For you it will be the same, will it not, if your husband is unfaithful?
-- No, not at all. I should be very vexed; my pride would be wounded -- as if a society lady were to give preference to another over me for an invitation or something of the sort; I should be equally annoyed.
-- Yes, then you have a jealous nature like me.
-- Yes, I should be very angry at first, but everything passes, everything fades. I look at it this way: so long as a man loves you enough not to think of another, all is well; but the moment you have allowed so great a void that even a single thought for another may be placed in it -- it is over. And there is nothing to be said.
-- But often a husband is unfaithful while still loving, deep down.
-- Nonsense, that is impossible -- those are fairy tales! Tell that to someone else. It is over, and one must forget and enjoy oneself. Ah! but one cannot forget; they say one must console oneself with one's children, but that cannot be. Certainly not -- love for a husband and love for children are two different things. One does not replace the other.
-- Yes, but we are made to love; that is what one lives for. Even suppose you go to a soiree -- you always have some interest; you prefer to speak with one person rather than another.
-- Yes, I quite believe it, but faces are indifferent to me so long as it is not a dusty creature.
-- Yes, of course, but you would therefore prefer the Duke of Hamilton to speak to you rather than Saetone.
-- I should think so; the Duke of Hamilton is at least comme il faut -- he is not dust.
-- Well, you see perfectly well that you are a little girl, but you prefer one person to another -- that is already a kind of love; you have some interest when you go to the theatre or the promenade; you think of seeing such and such a person, etc., etc.
We understand each other very well -- she is right and so am I. Then I lie down on the table near the wall and we talk trifles. Hitchcock comes, then Papa, then at last diadia; we send for the travellers at the Anitchkoffs'; my aunt comes and I take the opportunity to go to bed. But I come back in a few minutes because I am writing to Worth and wish to discuss my dress. They annoy me about my studies; I am obliged to say that I study very little, etc., etc., because they say I study too much. I write and talk through the door. They have made the acquaintance of a Russian -- antipolvere -- Berr. I ask what he is like and Maman describes him; Dina adds a red nose, whereupon Maman says his nose is no redder than Hamilton's. Dina: "They knew what to compare with."
-- In the first place, Hamilton's nose is not handsome and his whole face is red. I:
-- Dina gives me a caricature description of Hamilton and says Berr is like that, but Maman describes him properly. Dina says:
-- Why did you say she would be thrilled? I never get thrilled by the trousered sort. Yes, and how happy I was when on the bridge I saw Hamilton's relative.