Saturday, 1 May 1875

Some Spanish women come with their wares. I buy a black mantilla, which I go perfectly mad over — and through it, over the Spanish language and over Spain itself. All of this in an instant.
I have taken the silver braid off my white dress, rearranged the skirt, and had it washed. The result is now a long dress of light wool, yellowish-white, matte, soft, and flowing — like an angel's robe.
I put it on, with the mantilla over it, take a fan, and go to Nina's. I could well go out in this costume — at half past twelve there was not a soul about.
I find them at table; behind me Léonie carries a dish of crayfish — I settle in and eat them at my leisure. We laugh at table, then in the garden.
I have bought twenty pairs of silk stockings; I shall wear no other kind, for it is a delight to see my firm, elegant leg and my dainty little foot in my silk stocking. How I pity those who cannot see it.
Now I must say that we were given a great fright. Trifon writes, begging Walitsky to come at once, for, he says, Grand-papa has had a stroke. I first thought it was Georges, and I was neither surprised nor grieved — only something like remorse for having beaten him, for despite all his abominations I cannot help but pity him. Whatever I may say, I have a kind heart.
Everyone was agitated, and I occupied myself studying the various faces — deeply moved at heart, and indifferent in appearance.
In ten minutes we were reassured: Grand-papa had simply fallen, having knocked against his table — poor blind man that he is — and cut his cheek and bruised the eye with which he sees nothing.
I go home and we attend to him with Collignon — that is, she attends to him and I watch.