[Written across the page: Fine work.]

I have sketched in charcoal; what remains is to go over it in pencil and then paint. That will be the stumbling block for me. I have a facility for drawing, but I have never painted from life.

[Written across the page: I have a facility for drawing. Bother!]

I do not go out at all. At my Latin lesson I see Terffidua through the window. If I do not interest him, it matters not at all whether he sees me or not; if, on the contrary, I do interest him, it is excellent strategy to miss a day. A sensible girl like me, concerning herself with such trifles! Besides, by not going out I had counted on making it up to myself at the opera this evening. As will be seen, nothing of the sort.

I was in the middle of dressing my hair and could not manage it, when Maman — who has been visibly better these three or four days — is taken ill again. I hear running and whispering, but I do not stir and finish my toilette very calmly. Is it insensibility, or strength of character?

The fact is I did not change expression, and the most skilful physiognomist would have seen only a carefree girl going to the theatre. Even the eyes remained clear and smiling. Dina runs to fetch Bottone. Speaking of that unhappy man — he has come back because his wife died a week and a half ago. He was most attentive and kind, and did not leave until he had put those poor little orphans to bed, who were waiting for him and would not fall asleep without him.

Two hours later (I had put my brown dress back on and removed the false curls) we were all gathered round Maman's bed — and they even talked of Audiffret. Such is life! Chien de chiens!^["Chien de chiens!" — lit. "Dog of dogs!" Marie's characteristic oath of frustration.] How sad, how absurd, how beautiful!