Saturday, 3 April

At one o'clock I leave for Cannes with my aunt (grey dress and a hat trimmed with a Valenciennes lace fichu, held in front by a perfectly adorable diamond worth twelve thousand francs).
Collignon is with them; we spend the evening chatting, talking about every manner of thing under the sun.
— Would you like to marry? Maman asks me. I have found someone for you: Count Jarochewsky.
— Oh! If I were certain of his standing at court, I would accept on the spot.
Then when I went to bed — I don't want to sleep with my aunt, it's too hot, someone give me another room.
— What then, and what if you had to sleep with Jarochewsky?
— Ah, Maman, if I married Jarochewsky, it wouldn't be for him! — and I left. Collignon was no longer there.