Thursday, 4 March 1875

We finally leave dear San Remo, with some regret on Maman's account. But one must imagine this: the little Polish puffed-up bore was there, and his mother had spoken to mine about marrying off her son. By unparalleled good fortune I arrived in San Remo a few hours after he had left.
At two o'clock at Monte Carlo — after that wretched city, Monte Carlo seems more splendid than ever and I admire it as though seeing it for the first time. We went at once to luncheon, which was a great relief to me, as I have not eaten properly since Sunday. Everything seemed admirably served and I rose from table in the best possible humor. Sacha takes the children to the garden and I lead Nadinka into the salons. We were near a trente-et-quarante table when I felt someone looking at me; I look in turn — it is Furstenberg, the man with the hat. I pressed Nadinka's arm imperceptibly and we moved away; I felt myself blushing, but the gaze of that fair young man followed me, so that I think he saw me go pink. A little further on I encounter his blessed family, who also take pains to stare at me; the old woman opened her eyes wider than the others. I do not know why I dislike being thus examined by them.
I then led our Russian party to the concert and showed them the shooting gallery and all the terraces.
At half past four we set off and arrive at half past five in our good city of Nice — the most execrable of all for our impossible position.
I am proud that I forget neither my humiliation nor my love for a single moment. I write until two in the morning and go to bed without thinking of anything.