Wednesday, 7 April

I was wrong about that — last night I did not sleep until about half past twelve; I was hot, then cold.
Let us set aside these foolishnesses — I am ashamed of yesterday.
There was a grand rehearsal at Laussel's. I am advancing at full steam in Latin while working very little.
We went to the Villa Peillon to choose plants. As a year ago or so I had a craze for dogs — a craze which continues — now I have one for plants, and it is going to become quite violent. I go to the café at six; not a soul on the promenade either.
The Mordaunt scandal again! I must say, it is odd of me to say again — this is the first time I have read it, and as today's article is a summary of the whole affair, I now know everything.
I was pleased and surprised — but not at all astonished — to find the devil playing a role in it.
[Four lines cancelled: Having a husband other than Hamilton I would have [done] as Lady Mordaunt...]
Any husband other than Hamilton would be treated by me as Mordaunt was. And indeed — even Hamilton, who knows. The Prince of Wales and Johnstone.
Must I be made so foolishly!
This evening the duke is not alone — he is with the devil. Desidero diabolum. Poor me! I want to live in London for the men — they are demigods there. Oh! If God would permit me to go there. But for that I must marry. As quickly as possible, I should like.
I go to seek emotions in my journal. Spring makes me dreamy; it is beautiful at Nice — and then I am thinking of two creatures at once.
At Laussel's, while the others were playing, I imagined that I was the duke's wife, that he died, and that I made him a life-size statue in pure gold.
I wanted to say what I love most, but on reflection I find that I love everything beautiful — though I believe I give the preference to Hamilton and diamonds.
It pleases me to believe I do not love this man; this evening I cannot quite recall him.
The days following the 13th of October are extremely calm, so that I have been able to get nothing from the journal — on the contrary, I cannot stop thinking of Johnstone in the Mordaunt affair.
On account of that beautiful lady, the devil gains value in my eyes. There is nothing that charms me like eccentrics and rogues.
Tomorrow I shall occupy myself with the portrait.