Wednesday, 3 June 1874

I will sum up these two days in a few words. Yesterday we had a disagreeable incident at the hotel.
There have been complaints that we go to bed too late, that I sing late, and finally -- oh horror! -- that we are seen undressed in the evening. Everyone’s indignation and fury are beyond description.
written across the page
In this atrocious heat we left the windows onto the courtyard half-open; one might have thought oneself in Nice.
The result is that after having the owner summoned, Maman made a scene, and today we have moved to the Hotel des Iles Britanniques, rue de la Paix.
It is raining. Berthe was to come and see me today at four o’clock; she did not come, alas.
The cherries have made me ill. That fruit always makes my head heavy and turns my stomach; merely writing it could make me ill.
I was obliged to leave dinner; we took a cab, I was taken ill on the way, fortunately I managed to get home, and there again... and again. I am ill, or rather very weak, I scarcely have the courage to write, but I was absolutely determined to record that as we were going along the rue de Rivoli, already almost at the place de la Concorde (grey dress, it is raining), a gentleman went by in a fast cab, like the Duke of Hamilton. He struck me as very handsome. He seemed to me a man of good birth, though of course one can be mistaken.
If I were a man and not a woman, I would follow him, I would find out who he is, and...
He looks like the Duke, he is young. Good heavens, how handsome he is, I thought, and I closed my eyes two or three times to see him again, and out of sheer pleasure at having seen so handsome and so fine a man.
What I have said is vulgar.