Saturday, 4 July 1874

I was with Basilevitch at the marquise's; they were working at her house installing the gas. When we came to the promenade, everything was over. The Englishman made a great detour so as not to meet us. Basilevitch has lost on all sides.
We stop at home -- no longer at the Hotel de l'Europe, but in the apartment to which we moved this morning.
Opposite the Pouhon, the prettiest house with green shutters, five windows on the facade, a balcony on the first floor.
There was discontent, as always. Maman keeps to her bed.
We dined at the Hotel de l'Europe; then I wrote; then I dressed for the ball this evening. Pink dress, hair down -- not good; black boots and gloves, good-luck charms. We enter: Basilevitch in full evening dress, I, Eristoff, Paul. No one was dancing; five dances had been played without result. We began; the wretched remainder followed. There was not even Macainne, not the Pole, not Neufarge. Basilevitch left me with Eristoff and went to chat with two Russian ladies she had recently made the acquaintance of. I thought she ought not to have left me. Eristoff thought the same.
The count arrived, rather cold, but toward the end he warmed up. I looked him in the eyes.
I danced, but at one o'clock I called Basilevitch; she wanted to stay. So I leave with Eristoff; Basilevitch follows us, then Paul, Body, and the whole room in an instant. There were still four dances to go.
The little Pole dared to offer me his hand -- what boldness. I was bored; I shall go no more. It is boring and stupid.
There was a gentleman of proper appearance, blond, with a great thick blond beard, imperceptibly reddish; he placed himself in a corner, turned his back on everyone, and thus remained the entire evening.
The Englishman arrived in a jacket, entered neither the billiard room nor the ballroom, but remained in the middle salon. I nearly greeted him; he pretended not to see. I do not know what to do: with them it is the woman who greets first; with us it is the man.
I prepared for this ball with a victorious air. I wanted to flirt with Macainne, with the count. Paul compared me, at dinner, when after keeping silent for some time I said I would go and dance; he compared me then, following these words, to Mme Henriette, who brought back half a dozen madmen and two lunatics. For the count, he said, will go mad. He said it rather drolly.
At the Casino I said:
-- You are mad, like Miss Branko.
-- "I cannot become mad; I am already so" -- then, as if correcting himself:
-- I am mad: born -- I was born mad.
[Lower corner of the page torn off and removed by Marie, who continues her diary on the verso:]
IDEAS: Assemble a company for bathing in costumes as at Trouville, in the lake of the Bois de Boulogne. That seems to me adorable!
-- Set up a betting agency (like Oller), sell the tickets oneself with ladies, and give to the poor the ten percent that Oller takes for himself. I have explained myself badly, but I understand.

Notes

In English in the original.