Sunday, 2 August 1874

We go to watch the good people leaving church. Gericke stops not far from us and watches as we do; he looks wretched. Up close he improves greatly; from a distance he is not composed, he is not sure of himself. I never look at him, not even when he bows; to tell the truth, he interests me only moderately. I am in white; I am the very slightest bit better than yesterday, for a moment only. Maman wants to pay a call on Countess Merjeewsky; for this we cross the Seven O'Clock Avenue. We do not stay long.
At the music, Wheelwright with his magnificent greyhound comes to speak with us; he is racing tomorrow.
I should very much like to ride to the races but I have no one to go with. The heart told the young man to leave; he has the face of a hanged man today. We go into the Orange when the count says:
"Well, Mademoiselle, am I leaving today as I left for Brussels?"
"How did you leave for Brussels? I do not remember."
"Ah, you do not remember?"
"No, truly. My memory is so... you know."
He was repeating my words after me. The dinner was bad. I spend the evening at home and go to bed at eleven o'clock; that is much better.
I want to fix myself up; I am so ugly.