Thursday, 10 June 1875

I am bored and on edge. Yet the day had begun well, and everything passed as usual. We go to the sea baths with the Sapogenikoffs and my aunt. I give Lucie my photograph and she gives me hers. Yesterday she asked for it again. Little uncle Saëtone smiles agreeably.
Girofla arrives, sits down behind me, and plays with pebbles.
The other day in the country we spoke of Laferrière, and he said he knows her and that she dresses one very well.
— Do you know Walery?
— Yes.
— I was certain of it.
— Five or six years ago he made my portrait, but very poorly. Why were you certain of it? Why do you ask?
— For nothing — merely a question.
The Durands are quite near and seem intent on swallowing every word we say.
Lucie is going to have a dress made just like mine — what delight!
Of course — it irritates me enormously.
We go out and the man comes with us.
Saëtone and the others look at me and Audiffret as if we were two innamorati — I am furious. Audiffret speaks of a dinner at sea. That would be amusing.
We go home. Dina, Marie, and Olga do not dine and stay on the terrace, because at seven everyone is going to spend the evening at Lefèvre's, and they will bathe there.
I go there too, but only for half an hour. I come home sad and downcast — one knows not why.
Provided no one thinks I am in the process of falling in love with the young man. The idea annoys me — people don't understand me; they think foolish things. I am as if half asleep; I can barely write. Yesterday I was very satisfied; today I am bored. And yet nothing has changed. Vanity of vanities. There are days like this — my eyelids are heavy. I shall read the Bible and then sleep.

Notes

Walery — a fashionable Parisian photographer of the period.
"innamorati" — In Italian in the original: sweethearts, lovers.
"Misère des Misères" — an echo of Ecclesiastes 1:2: "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."