Sunday, 16 May 1875 (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 my aunt 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

Jeunes lions — “young lions”: fashionable young men about town, dandies. The French expression had roughly the force of the English “young blades.” ↩