Monday, 26 January 1874

I stay until the moment of going out with my hair hanging loose; it is wavier than ever, and golden -- I am in love with it.
It is all over, I have nothing to say, nothing to think about. On opening the piano I saw him, but that happens to me rarely, and like a flash of lightning; it is my greatest happiness -- that is to say, for my heart.
I ride out with Dina, but I am not at ease, everything goes wrong; on the promenade I arranged my hair -- besides, there is no one about, the sun has set, it is six o'clock, the weather is mild, it seems like summer to me. While I was styling my hair, Gioia came to the Soubise's to collect her for Monaco; she has her ravishing carriage. She wants for nothing -- she retook possession of her chic.
My ride was not a pleasure but a martyrdom. I am happy to be home. I have a new riding hat from Paris -- very fine.
Blanche Boyd is marrying Lord Henry Paget. Well, I thought she would never marry, or marry badly. How lucky she is.
Lambertye makes himself noticed, and I think of him sometimes (not like... no -- there can be no question of that). I do not know what he is. There are people, then, small, ugly, always on foot, doing nothing extraordinary, who make themselves noticed like the Comte de Lambertye; I only know he exists because he looks at me. The other evening at the Cercle, I
was turning away so he would not see me, and Dina said: There -- Lambertye is looking at you; so I turned in the box so as not to see him and so he would not see me. His looks are mocking and insolent. There are moments when I could strike him, so impertinent does he seem with his smile. I should like to know him only to demand an explanation and to give him a good dressing-down.

Notes

In English in the original.