Wednesday, 8 April 1874

All night I dreamed of Wittgenstein. Quite simply, as of anyone. At eleven we go to church to begin fasting (blue dress, good; hair down). I am beginning to have a remarkable figure.
The whole day passes in waiting -- for what or whom, no one knows, but everyone waits. We wait until the entire Allen family arrives with Tebbitt. Maman is with Madame, who speaks French, and I am obliged to take charge of the three men.
They leave soon, and Tebbitt takes one of the professors' seals. Will he die like poor Abramovitch, who had taken my grey sample and promised to remind me of something or other by showing it next year?
Maman missed the five o'clock train and is very angry, certain she would have won twenty thousand francs on number 21.
I go so rarely to the Promenade, and for so short a time! I was there only to have the displeasure of seeing the tall brazen one [Crossed out: with the cause of this] with two creatures -- two small and faded bitches. And he carries his head low, eyes downcast, always looking at the ground like a pig. I am sure he cannot look at the sky. He is ashamed and crushed to be between these two beauties. I do not know why I dare not look at them.
Toward six o'clock, at 55, everyone gathers. I climbed the fence to reach the terrace. Stiopa helps me down.
There is a confectionery on the rue de France, quite near. I want to give it a certificate of excellence.
The evening air intoxicates me; I am still under the influence of the same feeling as yesterday... Strange thing -- the Prince of Wittgenstein makes me think of the other man; it is not his person, but the mere thought of him brings the other back to my mind. The other, whom I cannot forget, and whom I love more and more.
I do not think of the surly one without reason; it must have begun with something; it is not only because I am bored. He made himself noticed by... well, by his own person, nothing else; and I do not think of him because I am bored, but because I do not know why -- because I think of him.
But another thought troubles me. Next door, at Maman's, they are speaking of high society, fashionable ladies, and my heart stirs and beats -- for that is its true place, its true happiness.
Shall I be happy? (I shall look in Macaulay at the page I find on opening the book to the right, the tenth line) -- liberty and progress.
I go to Maman's -- it carries me away.

Notes

In English in the original.
In English in the original. Marie practises bibliomancy with Macaulay's History of England.