I resumed my first lesson in Italian and Latin. I was in a white dressing gown, and my mother said such a thing to me! A thing I shall never forget, which I shall remember with disgust and horror, and for which I harshly reprimanded her and spoke to her words full of righteous indignation — I would have liked to crush her with those words for what she said to me:

— If you dress in an improper manner, you may seduce a professor of a hundred years; not long ago a man of seventy was tempted by a little girl. They might outrage you.

That is what she said to me!

I shall not say what I felt upon hearing this; let it be read, and I am sure that everyone will shudder with indignation, disgust, shame, and all that hell could create most cruel, most vile, and most abominable.

The music plays too late; toward six o'clock it is dark.

Everyone went out in the evening. I remain before the mirror and have arranged my hair so poetically that I should like to show myself to someone. I am pretty this evening, and this conviction makes me happy and gives a particular radiance to my face, glowing and fresh.

Is it Nice or the iron phosphate? That is the question.¹ In any case, blessed be Nice, for in Nice I am healthy and pretty.

Thanks be to God.