Wednesday, 24 December 1873

We ride on horseback, Dina and I. This Dina spoiled the ride for me at first, but toward the end all went very well.
I had warned her that her hair would fall; I even told her she wanted to make an impression -- and indeed after a minute of trotting it fell. It would have been nothing if she had paid no attention to it (as she ought, since she expected it), but she found herself embarrassed and repented, I think, of this effect. We come back; she fixes herself, and from then on all goes well; she even trotted quite well.
Those Galve dresses do not leave me a moment's peace -- that is to say, I am extremely vexed and enraged by them.
I stay the whole evening (as tomorrow is Christmas) with Maman, who is unwell; she lies on my aunt's bed and I warm her feet. Two hours pass thus; I heard them strike. The thought of those dresses will not leave me; I am in despair. We chat quietly, partly about these dresses. After the duke, what I regret most is this dress; I waver between the two.
Papa comes with his alarms over Maman's health and his agitation, which enrage me; then Bete returns from Monaco. My aunt, Dina and Hitchcock at the theatre.
Maman is very charmed with me; I was gentle and charming, etc. etc. I prevent those scoundrels from inventing terrors, hot water bottles and all sorts of nonsense. Maman goes to bed in her own room; I with her.
They return from the theatre; they bring Pitou, and I take my leave.
My aunt said aloud at luncheon that I have won a victory over a gentleman -- that he is always looking, that at the exit yesterday he stood near us staring and staring, that it was Lambertye.
Here is what I have decided about this dress that gnaws at me like the marriage (until yesterday I wrote mariage with two r's) of the Duke of Hamilton: I shall have one like it made when I leave Nice to travel and in Russia.
While I was near Maman I thought of everything in the world -- of him, no doubt -- but I only see him when I pray, and I only pray when I see him.
It is one o'clock.