Thursday, 28 May 1874

I did not go to see Jeanne l'Indienne; she was at my house. She reminded me of Baden. Tomorrow I shall go to hers.
We were at the exhibition in aid of the Alsatians and Lorrainers, at the Corps Legislatif. It is hot. I go up to the deacon's to give him some advice on a letter he must write. Then we go with him to Baccarat. The crystals there are magnificent; we placed orders for more than three thousand francs. Exhibitions and department stores are very tiring.
We go to the Bois to refresh ourselves. But all of a sudden I catch sight of something extraordinary -- it is the Vicomtesse Vigier. She greeted Maman. On the way back we see Princess Souvoroff sitting on a chair with a lady and a dog; Maman has the carriage stopped. Souvoroff comes to meet Maman and appears very pleased. She scolds her because Maman had not left her address when she called a week ago; she invites us tomorrow at two, promises to visit us at 55 in Nice, and asks me where we are going for the summer. I said Spa. "We too; the doctor said my daughter needs to go there for twenty days."
She is going to Chantilly on Sunday; her daughter, she says, adores horses and races. So I said that I adore them too. She is a very agreeable and beautiful woman.
We go to the Bois; there is another townhouse for sale that we shall visit tomorrow.
At dinner we remember the trip to Vienna, and we laughed heartily over my aunt's terrors.
On the way to Paris I thought Maman would go straight to Princess Souvoroff's, that we would be with her and that I would spend this short time as I like. But things turned out otherwise -- so much the worse.
I find that one eats very well at the Russian bistrot. Of course the botvinia [cold fish soup] and other such rubbish are banished from my table. On the way back to the hotel there were three well-bred men who were watching us and turned round several times. First of all I tried Russian: andouille! They turned again, and one of them with a smile; so I said to Maman, loud enough to be heard:
-- I do not want people turning round and staring at us like imbeciles. We had to cross the street to get home, and as I was leaving I said:
-- Imbeciles, ill-bred swine.
I was angry; it was foolish. I said andouille first of all because it is the Russians who imagine that in Paris [Crossed out: there is not a woman] all women are kept women. We look respectable, but in the evening one cannot tell, and to be out after nine o'clock on the boulevards is suspect. I play ball.