Thursday, 2 April 1874

O night! It is thee alone I love. Thou art beautiful, thou art vast, mysterious, profound, sweet and calm! I have just closed the window; the moon shines; the frogs are singing, and their song is the one I prefer. Why does the night not last forever? Dominica Pavlovna has written several times, and at last she gives the cause of the death, but very vaguely. She had said, or someone said in his presence, that the matter of the marriage had taken a serious turn and that he would be left without property. Then he struck himself. But all this is very vague and muffled.
Having left [Crossed out: our Maman, my aunt] our party at the station, I go to 55 to see the bedroom furniture. It is such common furniture that I am in a bad humour. I could never look calmly at Maman's mirrored wardrobe... It is wretched! It would do for some station at Fedorov and for nothing else. Miserable people! They do not know how to furnish. How much bad blood I shall make over this furniture.
It is an infamy to buy in Nice. Marseille is already better. Then we ramble in the streets.
Georges is at our house. Decidedly there is a sous cap; I always lose. This evening, however, I recover a little, but by being banker. I only played twenty times. Walitsky guessed right away; I had not provoked him properly.
At the Promenade, almost no one.
To Paris, quickly!

Notes

In English in the original.