Saturday, 28 November 1874

There is already quite a crowd and one may say the season has begun — the more so as today the Masséna club is giving its first afternoon dance.
I played at Laussel's much better than in recent lessons. Hélène was there, dressed in old things that gave a foretaste of the splendours of the matinée.
Before driving Maman, my aunt and Markevitch to the club, I walked with them; the sun showed itself without reducing the cold — fortunately.
It is fated that Audiffret's carriage must always fling itself at ours, whether empty or occupied; today his horse very nearly knocked ours over.
Maman was caught off guard. "A fine specimen!" — then she recognised Audiffret. "Ah, it is Audiffret — the wretch, the wretch."
She is so afraid of a passing fancy on my part for him — even if I had one! What would it matter? She ought to know me better, to know me incapable of any folly. And besides, suppose this man could please me — does she not know my views? I single out a man from the others; he seems better than the rest; I occupy myself with him for a time, then it all passes and another comes along, and so on.
I must admit that the men I might have chosen, even briefly, could pass everywhere like a letter with full postage — and at the end of my life, looking back over these people, I might see with pride that it is a quite particular company, worthy of notice; a company of men from which one could choose with eyes shut. Far from saying they would all be equal, there would be some for different purposes — all fit for a light attachment, but many also for marriage, etc.
I do not say that Audiffret pleases me, but it is easy to see, without my saying another word, that I find him better than the rest and single him out considerably.
I blush to have believed even for a moment that Monsieur de Moelenar was a plobster — he is nothing but a nasty beast.
It appears that extraordinary upheavals are taking place at Georges's: his wife is furious, has brought the police and wants to throw him out of their lodgings, as the lease is in her name. Maman is anxious and miserable; those rogues will make her ill.
I continue to think of my trip to Paris; I was deceived once again in thinking I might obtain something without difficulties and friction. Nothing is said about the Duke of Hamilton in the papers — I only have them brought for the Duke. It seems to me his heir is slow in coming; Englishwomen are like cats and have them by the dozen.
Yesterday I kept imagining I saw him everywhere, so distinctly, with that air of magnificent condescension. If I am not mistaken, it seems to me that Maman once found some resemblance between him and me. I should not let myself think of all this — I would lose myself in ecstasy over all these memories, and might very well end up weeping after having fretted myself for nothing.