Sunday, 16 May 1875

33rd book begins (begun Sunday, 16 May 1875, ended Sunday, 6 June 1875)
Our gesture — the Masonic gesture by which we recognize one another — it is, it is, let me see how to explain it...
When one knocks one's hand against a table or something else, one shakes it — and there you have our sign.
We do it everywhere — even at the theatre (at the theatre, only a semblance of it, of course), for the full gesture is familiar to the Nice people when someone is spinning them a yarn.
I was at church; I work in the afternoon; and at five o'clock we go out — the young ladies under the chaperonage of ma tante. We often walk alone, and do not behave too badly.
Just as we go out, Audiffret comes out of his lane — which is almost directly opposite our door — and, craning his head first to one side then to the other to see past his coachman's back, follows us down the lane leading to the Promenade. We stop at the Bains Georges; he passes by, but a moment later turns back and comes down. Our party were in the bathing cabin, and I stood at the door trying, without success, to shut it.
Just at that moment Girofla comes up in front of me and goes right down to the water's edge, where one sits to watch the bathers.
Impatient at not being able to shut the door, I went to shut the one giving onto the sea, and while trying to do so with half my body outside the cabin, I was answering Marie: "No, today I shall not bathe." I had scarcely finished when the handsome zero — as Collignon calls him — vanished, mounted on his chariot, quite elegant, I must say, and was gone.
Was it by chance, was it deliberate? I do not know — but while our young ladies bathed and ma tante and I sat waiting on the edge, I laughed as... as I laugh when such coincidences occur.
The others went off in the carriage, and I went to find them at the concert on foot, with ma tante.
(continued in the next book.)
33rd book (continued)
There, right opposite the carriage, are all the young bloods of Nice — Girofla among them, all rosy. I do not look at him. We see ma tante home and return; the Durands arrive and draw up beside us.
Lucie, just back from Rome, speaks to me; we exchange a few words, and as the concert ends, I tell the coachman to move on.
There is that famous Girofla again — who represents, for the moment, my sole diversion; an agreeable diversion in any case.
Does he know of our escapade yesterday? That is what I should dearly like to know. I laugh and amuse myself — as befits the queen I am.
And in the evening we go to the theatre, where I lose some of my gaiety — for Girofla is not there.
He amuses me — and yet I do not love him; no, not at all.
This little man enrages me because — as I was saying this morning at breakfast — I know myself to be beautiful, tall, well-made; and I see this little Niçois, this earthworm, who — even he — does not fall in love with me.
That is what enrages me! O my God — deign to lower Yourself to my lowliness, and make him fall in love, so that I may torment him a little. It will not kill him — and it will make me live!

Notes

Marie draws an ironic parallel between their girls' club's secret signal and the secret gestures of Freemasonry.
Jeunes lions — "young lions": fashionable young men about town, dandies. The French expression had roughly the force of the English "young blades."