I was doing my hair when M. Jean de Woerman was announced — as if a cloth merchant can have a de to his name! But it costs so little and gives him such pleasure.

My aunt receives him; my mother has been bedridden for fifteen days, and I am quite anxious — as much on account of what I saw in the mirror (the year is not yet over!), as on account of an itchy nose.

I should not have come down had little Foster not arrived.

This fine gentleman asks whether I shall go into society this winter, to which I replied with the most innocent air that no, not until next winter.

— "Not even to afternoon receptions?"

— "Not at all into Nice society in the first year — but in Italy."

— "Why ever not here?"

I don't know — Maman does not wish me to make my debut in Nice society. He then turned to my aunt:

— "But Madame, you bought the villa only not to stay in Nice!"

I had cut a toe on my left foot and was wearing Maman's ankle boots; two or three times I noticed Woerman's eyes directed toward my feet. Whatever has she done to her feet? he must have been wondering.

My aunt was extraordinarily civil and agreeable.

Having taken Foster with me, I was fastening my ankle boots to go walking with her when I was called from Maman's room that MM. de Barrême and d'Olivier were near the pavilion. Uncertain what to do, I opened the balcony door and called in my most amiable voice:

— "Monsieur de Barrême, come round this way — we do not live at the pavilion."

— "Really, Mademoiselle, I thought it was here!"

— "No, no."

One boot unbuttoned, Foster waiting for me, and old Barrême to be introduced to my aunt.

In two minutes I was ready and introduced the gentlemen. D'Olivier is a man of fifty, with grizzled hair, a vast round face, short and rather stout.

Without needing to be asked twice he sat down at the piano and sang, then it was Florence who sang "Connais-tu le pays" — that song I have just rewritten in my own fashion:

Then d'Olivier sang again — and he sang not badly.

My aunt was as agreeable with these two as with Woerman — even more so. We spoke of the furniture, the annexe.

At last I went out with Foster and Victor. Nothing but the crowds — still, it is very interesting to walk on such a day.

Furstenberg, d'Arnim, Lambertye, Jarchewsky, Woerman, and two others I do not know are promenading.

Gambart passed us — I heard him say good day and recognized him only afterward.

We took a turn in the carriage, and finita la commedia.³