Tuesday, 23 March 1875

Not until ten o'clock do I learn that today is the last pigeon shooting — the closing prize of the season. I go with my aunt and Nadia (white dress, grey hat, false curls, good).
Nadia and I go down to the shooting range; near the middle of the descent the man who takes the tickets comes running after us and asks whether I am not Prince Furstenberg's daughter — because the Prince has paid for his daughter's ticket and said to give it to her.
I stay at the shoot for more than an hour and am not bored. The Duke of Montrose was shooting, but I did not see him — the Duke we spoke of with Collignon.
In time I shall take Collignon into my household — she is an agreeable person and almost indispensable.
I do not know why Nadia keeps repeating "Captain Neville" — the name pleases her and we laugh about it constantly. The Furstenbergs are behind us and examine me as on the other day.
I am not annoyed — they are not common people.
Towards the end I grow animated and my tongue loosens. The truth is that for me, seeing and hearing Englishmen is a great pleasure.
Before leaving we wander through the gardens like two little girls. My aunt meets us below.
At six o'clock it is still daylight; we can therefore see our gateway and the iron grille that is being put up.
In the evening at the opera, Il conte Ory (blue dress). I am dreadfully bored and come home quite miserable.