Thursday, 2 July 1874

There is a children's ball before the kiosk on the promenade.
We went there (canvas dress, Massa hat, good). Already a good number of people were installed before the platform; Mme Basilevitch had not arrived; the little fright Gridano, a Romanian introduced to us yesterday, bored me by remaining with us. I went with Paul to fetch Basilevitch. [Crossed out: and her children] I found her finishing her toilette; we came back with the children -- I held the little girl by the hand and Paul carried the baby in his arms, a boy of a year and a half.
We escorted these interesting persons, giving each one a gentleman and a lady.
I noticed at this moment a gentleman insipidly handsome, with a Mephistophelean air, who was looking at me; then he came to greet Basilevitch, who introduced him to me -- the Chevalier de Neufarge. Illegitimate son of a Russian prince who bequeathed him a great fortune, which this beauty squandered by half. I returned with Basilevitch and this gentleman to sit with our party, to whom the introduction was repeated.
This gentleman spoke very lightly to Basilevitch, played even more lightly on words, and said that Spa was her husband's training ground. He is well dressed, but he must be some sort of neutral being and a species of adventurer. My suspicions were confirmed in the evening; they spoke so ill of him that Basilevitch was nearly in despair at having introduced him, and did not know whether she should dance with him -- to refuse him is to lose the right to dance with others.
Everyone says he has a bad reputation; when one asks what? how? they keep silent. And Kirch this evening, while treating us to lemonade, told Basilevitch that she should not ask what reputation the man has. This gentleman chooses the moment when he is treating, as a rule, to gossip.
In the evening Walitsky escorted me to the promenade, where I stayed with Basilevitch and Princess Eristoff (another one born a merchant's daughter; loose, and wants to divorce herself in order to marry a Body).
I find myself very badly surrounded. A short time after, the little Pole arrives, seats himself beside me, and we talk music. He is a musician. (I fear I am repeating or skipping, for I write today, Saturday; every evening some impediment arose.)
I never look him in the face, so as to make it appreciated when I do look. I speak with eyes lowered or fixed upon some point. I refused all the dances, and the count did not dance either, while telling me that he adores dancing. He gave me to understand that he wishes to dance only with me. It is very amiable, and I believe this boy will amuse me; only he is so young -- I do not like puppies.
When all is said and done, the Englishman is still the best (when there is no fish, the crayfish is a fish).
Then the conversation took a delicate turn:
-- However, Pygmalion animated the statue, said I.
-- Yes, but I do not love the beauty of statues; I love living beauty, that thinks, that feels. I love spiritual beauty, inquiring beauty (he stressed the word, looking at me; I smiled -- I should not have).
M. de Neufarge was posing at the entrance.

Notes

In English in the original.