Wednesday, 18 March 1874

Nice no longer exists -- it is summer! It is summer. I cannot believe it. No one left on the Promenade!
Why exaggerate? There are still people, especially at the Strait, but few. And an uninteresting set. Little Charles still turns away; nothing new except that Lambertye is marrying. And that is still only a supposition, I suppose.
The party they gave -- that is, the Duke and Duchess de Mouchy -- was the celebration of the engagement of the Obelisk and Fedus.
All that -- these are my suppositions, rather well founded, besides. And then this year everyone is marrying.
Nowadays young men marry rarely; it is the men eaten by the moths who marry (Maman says that the moths have eaten Lambertye).
The old moths, as Dina says. Lewin too is eaten by the moths. I saw Mme and Mlle Sabatier and M. Lewin on foot near the jewellers'.
But it is vexing that Lambertye is marrying. I am always spiteful when someone marries. I do not like married men. But this time it is particularly vexing. It seems to me he never pleased me, but it is vexing all the same. I write this in Russian so as not to be ashamed of such a folly, and because my earlier writings did not contain what I write now; I am truly ashamed of being vexed. What is he to me? But it is vexing all the same, so vexing that my humour is spoilt for the whole day. All the more so because they teased me. It suffices for them to tease me about someone for that someone to marry.
[In the margin: It seems to me now that Fedus too is unique in his kind, and that there will be no other like him. The vexation has almost entirely passed.]
Only I cannot think without laughing of Fedus beside the Obelisk. I have noticed that he likes obelisks -- la Valsenter, for example, and several others of that sort.
It is mild but not hot, and that is enough for me. I am a daughter of the North; the heat annihilates me.
How does the Obelisk consent to take so small a husband? This evening I do not play; I do not wish to take all of Paul's money.