Monday, 4 January 1875

The 4th already — and still no Paris!
I am fresh and well (black jacket — good). It is grey and cool; everyone appears dull and chilly, like the weather.
The last house on the Promenade, scarcely built, burned down last night.
I feel like falling in love with Audiffret. What does one say to that? One says it would be ugly.
No — I do not want to fall in love; I want to see him in love with me — which is far more correct and proper.
I am absolutely alone — my aunt and Mme Markevitch have left for Monaco at five o'clock.
I read, I smoke.
For a month I have been hoarse — I believe my voice is coming back. Today I sang — very badly, but I sang, which is always something.