Sunday, 8 November 1874

Ange's husband has arrived and they paid us a visit, as did Patton and Mme Howard. I met Lise and Hélène on the Promenade — tomorrow they are coming to us. Today they are at the Boutowskys', which does not exactly wound me, but does touch my self-esteem.
The first call ought to have been on us — we were the first to receive them. One day, perhaps, I shall be repaid for that — in the meantime, no matter.
I went out alone, then with my aunt, then with the whole party whom I left at the station, and finally alone again. The two times I was alone I encountered Audiffret — the chivalric name Pâris has given him. The first time I did not look at him, and I do not know whether he looked at me; in any case he was shouting something to a lady and gentleman seated in his carriage, from which he had just leapt. The second time he looked at me — but I did not, for I do not [crossed out: budge from the carriage] turn round for all manner of people, but only for friends or new and interesting strangers.
These encounters led me, on arriving home, to tell Dina that Audiffret had been introduced to us by Galula, near the public gardens.
The first words I said drew me in, and I entered into every detail. On arriving [crossed out: in any case] I had assumed an animated, mysterious, laughing, and agitated air — I really believed it myself. I repeated everything that had been said, I described every gesture, every movement; in a word, I lied so well, so naturally, that I believed for an instant that I was not lying, and this conviction drew me into further details that would have convinced the most incredulous. But from the moment I entered everything had been so natural that Dina — when I told her to prepare herself for something extraordinary, to await a marvellous tale, accompanying these words with significant smiles and eloquent glances — Dina, I say, guessed what I did not yet know how to tell. In short, the thing succeeded admirably — and this evening, when our people return from Monaco, there will be something to say to Dina, and she will not know how to begin to speak of this introduction; and then the astonishment of the household; and then tomorrow it will all be quite amusing.
I told her that Maman, on her way to the station, had said there would be a dinner, that Galula, Audiffret, Mlle Pelikan, and the Howards would be invited. At this, Dina replied that a French cook would be needed and the dinner should take place in the house; and then she said, in a tone she wished to make indifferent but which showed she was enchanted:
— No, upon my honour, he no longer interests me now — when he was unknown, yes — but now.
She said this with an involuntary smile of contentment, settling back gently in her chair — for Ventre-Saint-Gris! she takes everything from the hero Audifferus as meant for herself.
— Well then, my dear, I said, smiling myself involuntarily but for another reason, I leave you entirely to your joy.
— Oh! There — so you think he pleases me! she cried, still smiling but assuming a disdainful look. Really, one cannot joke with you.
[Crossed out: For what she] — this too was said in a charmed voice, and it was not a reproach, for it was said in a weak, almost languishing tone.
Good Lord. Oh, the creature!

Notes

Ventre-Saint-Gris! — Henri IV's famous oath, a mild oath meaning roughly "By God's belly" (a euphemism).