Monday, 8 March 1875

I am enraged, furious, in despair! And over what? A trifle: they did not hold the box I had reserved at the Théâtre Français.
The bill was sent through Paul, but that worthless creature never mentioned it, so that we looked as if we were dodging the payment, and the box-office manager gave the box to others. Oh! horror, shame, meanness, pettiness — fie! fie! fie! fie! My God, how these little things wound me and leave a mark on my heart for a long time.
I shut myself in, weeping, until seven o’clock; then I go down and find all the Sapogenikoffs at dinner. They stay until a quarter past eleven, so that once again I go to bed late.