Tuesday, 12 May 1874

Here we are in Paris -- how happy I am, how very happy! I have found what I was looking for. Paris! Paris! There is what I love.
Two hours are spent looking for rooms. At the Grand Hotel there is nothing; we take a small apartment at the Hotel Scribe. Maman wants a nice little scene, but I have just told her: "Maman, I am in such good humour that I shall not answer you, [Crossed out: say what you] whatever you may say; if you feel like hitting me, I shall simply leave, that is all." Indeed I am so cheerful that it is strange. I have a feeling that I shall have a cancer in my left breast, for I feel pains from time to time. I warned Maman seriously, but she says it is nonsense. I do not know what false
pride tells them [Crossed out: that it's] that one must not believe in such things, as if I were immortal. I have given warning; if I die, so much the worse for them. It is for them to mourn me.
Our luggage is at the station and I am fresh from the bath; I am obliged to stay wrapped in a bath sheet, without a shift. Che malheur. I breathe, I live, I am no longer in Nice.

^[Russian-French code-switch: "What a misfortune."]