Tuesday, 3 November 1874

Why the devil am I not as attractive by day as I am in the evening!
When I looked at myself just now in the mirror before which I do my hair, take my tea, read and write, I was — I dare say it — quite beautiful. Ears very pink, cheeks the same, mouth crimson and moist, teeth small, white, and bright. In my portrait I lied — I have now, through much care, white and bright teeth as I have just described. Eyes more brilliant than ever; the eyebrows too stood out particularly against the brow, whiter than usual this evening; the hair disheveled but not loose — in this disorder two curls had fallen forward and formed quite a poetic knot.
Yes — apart from the nose, which is in fact very passable — I would not wish to change my face as it is tonight.
I believe I have said before that when I am satisfied with my face I am satisfied with everything, or at least I have the most brilliant hopes about the villa, the arrangements, everything in a word. Indeed it seems to me that the world is mine when I am pretty.
there are With something like satisfaction I observed a double row of carriages around the public gardens. Many of the regulars are here, and a few well-made dresses are to be noticed. We encountered my ghost once in his carriage and once on foot — I did not blush! The little scoundrel has his top hat on again. Perhaps I, too, often wear things that are unbecoming to me — one cannot see oneself. He stared at me again, straight in the eyes; when he sees us he seems not to want to lose a single instant, and gazes with a furious intensity as long as he can see — one would think he wanted to examine people down to the smallest detail.
But God forgive me, I think I speak of him often enough! Bah! If Saëtone looked at me as he does, I would speak of him too. I am always flattered when people look at me — not like that miserable Lambertye, for example!
He will arrive as well, and I shall have the affront of enduring his smiles which I cannot fathom for the life of me. Wretch — I shall circulate an acrostic about you among our friends, and you will be ridiculous, you rascal; I shall put ridicule into it, and I shall also write verses easy to remember and sing to a well-known tune.
But alas! No one pays you enough attention for that.
While after dinner Nina, Pâris, and the rest of us were talking of various things, I was pacing back and forth, not listening to them and thinking — no one will guess who I was thinking about... I wager they will say Audiffret — but no: simply the Duke of Hamilton. Of late he comes to mind so often; I even dreamed of him the night of my evening terror. Often I would slip out into the corridor or the anteroom, close my eyes, and lean my head against the wall — it seemed to me then that he was about to come, that he was there... but I opened my eyes and saw only the sharp gaslight and the staircase. Wretchedness of wretchednesses! I am thinking of a man who does not know I exist and who is married.
I did not love him so much when I used to see him — that is, a year and nine months ago — but those two years during these almost two years I have thought of him so constantly... that I love him two, three, a hundred times more than then. I have analysed him without knowing him, studied him, conversed with him almost; oh, my God, I do nothing to think of him — but he recalls himself to my mind at every instant; I think of him without meaning to, and when I do I am so happy. I should have written nothing tonight without him — but I felt so strongly that I love him that I needed to say it, at least to this sad journal.
A year and nine months ago I saw him for the last time. It was the 12th of February 1873.
written across the page
Affectation, to counterbalance Audiffret, whom Maman and the others have put into my head with their teasing.
But what madness — at this very hour he is perhaps a father! Oh no — him a father, how horrid — and what business is it of mine, good God?
I purposely had The Morning Post sent, in order to find his name in it, but up to today still nothing.
At dinner someone mentioned Hamilton, and all confused and blushing I turned red as a brass tuba, thus exaggerating my cold.
Everyone knows — and I had to endure Dina averting her eyes.