Saturday, 26 June 1875

For perhaps the tenth time I have dreamt of the Gioia house. The curious thing is that I have never seen the inside, and it is the inside I dream of, and always the same one.
I could draw the plan of the rooms, I know them so well. I know how they are furnished, too. I should like to be able to ask Audiffret
Inserted itemplan de la maison Gioia dessiné par Marie, légendes
[Plan: north / south / bedroom furnished in flowered cretonne / dining room / antechamber / Pompadour drawing room / main door / drawing room in red satin and Russia leather]
Plan griffonné à la plume : pièces rectangulaires annotées « salon Pompadour », « salon de satin rouge et cuir de Russie », « nord », « midi »
Plan de la maison Gioia rêvée par Marie, avec ses légendes Mon Journal, t. 5 (fac-similé) — tome05.docx image 3 (après ¶2384)
whether it really is as I dreamt it. I do not remember the first floor; I only know that (looking from the Promenade) there is a long room on the right. I have dreamt of it, but in that dream it was unfurnished and full of trunks.
It is very tiresome to dress up for nothing; it is hot and one would like to go out in a loose gown. But I dare not: people will say it is because Audiffret has gone.
Tomorrow I shall go bathing, for form’s sake. I have not been since the gentleman left, and when he comes back I shall no doubt go, and that will set the magpies of Nice chattering. Tomorrow I shall go, and I shall go every day.
We saw Saëtone. Now there’s a diversion.
Dina bathes at Lefèvre’s with the Sapogenikoffs.
I am bored, and to add to this pleasure I fret over all these money matters.
They say that while he was here Alexandre gave Paul a thrashing. I begged him to many a time; I do not know whether he really did it.
I spend the evening in Maman’s room; she drives me wild, I fling the cushion I had to hand against the table, a chair falls over, and there we are: shrieks and very nearly a fainting fit. But afterwards everything calms down, and we talk about Collignon, who is behaving very strangely.
She speaks to no one, hides away, and seems to be sulking at everybody. Singular manners for a person on a visit — for she is on a visit; everyone wants only to be pleasant to her, and she turns her back. Every night is spent in tears. Who knows, perhaps she is unhappy? She is weeping for Tourrette, her fiancé, but I do not know why, I cannot believe in her love for him.
crossed outLast night I opened a book, thinking
This evening I opened a book, having fixed on the ninth line on the right, to ask it whether the Niçois rascal is thinking of me, and I read: that his heart would be hers for ever.
By Jove!

Notes

In French in the original: Bigre ! ↩