Thursday, 29 January 1874

I was waiting impatiently for that Auguste; at last he comes, maltreats my hair terribly -- I thought I should never be able to untangle it again -- changes my hairstyle twice, each one more misshapen than the last. Truly it seems deliberate. I style it myself; my poor head is in a dreadful state. Only at four o'clock do we go out (brown dress, golden hair half-hanging, good). The concert is over, but there are still some people about. The day is grey but fine and cold.
I believe there is something serious between the amorous Beak and the Comte de Lambertye -- they are always together. Am I so laughable, my God! The Beak seemed to say to Lambertye, laughing:
-- There she is, there she is, look.
That vexes me. We leave my aunt at the station and go to the Filimonoffs'. The whole family is gathered -- father, mother, the two daughters, and M. Potemkine. I speak of the carnival and do not fall silent; I know from my own experience how disagreeable and embarrassing it is when a person one barely knows does not talk. They are pleasant enough.
I am bored. I do not think the Duke of Hamilton will come to Nice; they are in Cairo. Next winter we shall go to Cairo, but Hamilton will no longer be there -- he used to go there as to Nice, and Collignon said he is a reject of society, that he spent his time with the donkey drivers. That is why I adore him. As for being rejected, I said it even then: he has but one step to take to put all of society at his feet. He was enjoying himself like a good fellow. He was right. I cannot express the infinite sadness that envelops me at the memory of him. Especially if I see him -- I become breathless for an instant.
By this stupid marriage my whole life is overturned, and I am discontented with everything. I no longer have a fixed point from which I could contemplate my entire future.