At noon in Marseilles; I arrive rocked as if on a boat. The rest of the journey passes quite peacefully. But Gambart at every stop leapt to the door and cried:

"And is the little one well?"

or:

"How is the little one?"

In the morning he was all in white and red slippers; towards evening he appeared in grey.

At Cannes we meet Mr Howard of the Swiss Times and [Crossed out: spoke to him] speak to him.

At last, there is Nice — Maman, Georges, Walitsky, and Paul and Trifon are at the station.

At the door of the house Adam meets us with bouquets. I am so happy to see poor Grandpapa again — he is so old! Maman does so much to vex me that I was not as glad to see her as I should have wished. If I take the side of white, she takes that of black; when I say I like something, that it pleases me, she immediately says the contrary. Every time I speak of things that please me, she poisons them, ruins them — and always against me, always, always against me!

I find, to my great regret and sorrow, the dining room in my study, Trifon in the room of my future chambermaid, and a grotesque servant named Lise upstairs, in the closet where I was to put my trunks and all the things one hides away. For greater satisfaction, as the finest ornament of the dining room — Makaroff, that half-mad creature, and impertinent, familiar, rude, and dirty besides!

We eat and talk at the same time; Doria was not forgotten, and they spoilt my mood once or twice with that vile name of Comte Merjeewsky.

Afterwards we go into the house and they force me to sleep there on account of a heavy rain and a terrible storm. There was a clap of thunder that so frightened Maman that with a cry, doubled over, she rushed to the middle of the room where we caught her. She escaped with nothing worse than a fright, and that same thunderclap was at that moment killing two poor fishermen who had taken shelter in one of the cabins at the Bains Georges.