Wednesday, 17 December 1873

It has been exactly one week since he married.
I meant to say that today is so insignificant a day that there is nothing to say, but unfortunately I opened this book to the page where his marriage is recorded (page 218); I read it in spite of myself, and here I am again, filled with the deepest sadness. Last night I prayed, and so well that I am quite happy about it. It is not always that I can pray, but yesterday I prayed from the heart; I felt that He was hearing me. I asked for nothing except the permission to pray often as well. I was so happy that I felt my eyes grow dark, and I wept -- but so well, so calmly. I thought it was only a moment, but it did not stop; I was so happy that going to bed I felt entirely different from usual. Blessed are those who pray!... But to confess the truth, I remembered him; these three, four days I was frozen, but yesterday on my knees all my regrets returned; my heart did not beat, but a sadness so calm, so sweet took hold of my soul. And I found myself a hundred times happier to weep than to be as I was the day before yesterday.
Oh! I was so well yesterday, so comfortable, and He was permitting me to pray.

^[In English in the original.]
[Crossed out: How I would like]
Now it is only during prayer that I feel something, that I see him, that I mourn him. Except for that hour I am as if nothing had happened; I cannot even believe that what I suffered was real.
How stupid I am.
I had gone to the study when I am called; M. Lefevre has returned, but for that idiot I would not go down. But Mme de Mouzay has come, so I go down and stay with them until a quarter past nine. I wasted an hour of studies.