Monday, 5 April

I dreamt that the postman was bringing my letter to the Hôtel de Luxembourg; I lean from the balcony and read the address, then ask him where the Prince is.
— The Prince of Wales is in Rome.
— Then what are you going to do with this letter?
— It will be forwarded to Rome!
— And how much longer will the Prince be there?
— Four days.
— Very well, I said to myself — I shall write to Rome.
I believe my letter will not reach him. The Prince is in Paris already. I shall wait a fortnight and write again. I am headstrong.
It is raining, I am bored and do not go out; to entertain myself I feel like writing another anonymous letter — but not to the Prince of Wales.
I stay with Papa until eight o'clock — I hope this will be counted to my credit in heaven.