Wednesday, 26 May 1875

Nothing equals my anxiety. My self-esteem is at stake — for if he dared to play a joke, it is, one must admit, a somewhat coarse joke.
Yesterday on the way home I made this vow aloud: If heaven grants me the grace of making this peasant fall in love with me, I will ill-treat him, I will make him walk on all fours, I will make him dye his hair yellow, I will make him shave his head, I will make him roll in the mud, I will make him jump into the sea fully clothed — I will have a terrible revenge.
Absurd and impossible words!
This morning at Maman's we speak of the event. After all, he is a clever fellow.
And if he knows, it may be his way of repaying our visit to the château.
Maman and my aunt take up the matter without the next interval and amuse themselves saying absurdities — that he is handsome, that I am sixteen, that he is a neighbour, that it is dangerous, that he has at his disposal a thousand means of pleasing: saddle horses, illuminations at the château, and a thousand other things. That in the end it will not be I who makes him walk on all fours, but he who makes me walk on all fours — I had better take care.
All this laughing and perfectly satisfied and radiant. It does not prevent me from being on the grill.
Where will he be presented? Or will it be like last year, when he was supposed to be introduced by Arson. What an abominable state of affairs. A thousand names of a devil — what shall I be like, then, for a man I actually love?
It will be terrible. But here it is self-esteem, it is pride, and these two beasts are a hundred times stronger than love — love for this little fair-haired nincompoop.
I go out too late — when we go to fetch the Sapogenikoffs the monster's carriage is near the baths, but when we arrive it is there no longer. It is past six o'clock and there is almost no one left.
How much blood I have spoilt since yesterday. Oh! He shall pay for it — if only God willed it.
I am mortified and humiliated.
To dare to play with me so!
To joke with me, who am not a little girl. A thousand names of a devil!
I hope nothing unpleasant will come of it and that everything will end well.
Oh, but I shall make him pay dearly for my torments of yesterday and today.
And who knows — perhaps I shall exact no payment at all. I forgive easily, and besides I am not sure of myself. That is the misfortune. A few successes would embolden me, but those successes do not come.
Ventre Saint-Gris!