Saturday, 8 May 1875

I walk with Sabatini (Archduke dress, Watteau hat, good). Truly I am in love with myself.
I laugh at people who want to make me believe in the ugliness of Alcibiades.
I adore him still.
I saw Girofla — he stared at me, but I made as though I did not see him, the wretch.
After a noisy dinner, to the Théâtre Français for L'Oncle Sam — a play that makes me want to go to America; and I shall go to America, next summer for the Philadelphia Exposition.
Collignon, confusing Basilevitch with Paskevitch, mentioned Charles Hamilton.
"You know, Mlle Collignon," I said to her, "people tease me, they tire me with these Hamiltons, and now — even if you were to beat me — I cannot recall either of them."
She then describes them to me and speaks of Carlo's pretty moustache — while despising both the Duke and the other.
That pretty moustache puts me in mind of Hamilton's — and of his lips; from that instant I became dreamy. I embrace Marie and Olga as I leave them at their door, and rush to my mirror the moment I am home — to look at myself in my pale pink dress, my hair arranged with a rose to the side, and my Spanish mantilla that I had put on for leaving the theatre.
A ravishing Rosina costume, which makes me pretty as a fair-haired Spaniard. My cheeks are the same colour as the rose in my hair, whose gold the black lace throws into relief.
Oh! Tonight I long to see the Duke of Hamilton.
His lips and his moustache are before my eyes; I am going to dream of them before I sleep.

Notes

In English in the original.
The Centennial International Exhibition of 1876 in Philadelphia, commemorating the hundredth anniversary of American independence. Marie aspires to attend.
Rosina — the heroine of Rossini's The Barber of Seville (1816), based on Beaumarchais's comedy; a classic Spanish beauty.