Editors’ note

Sunday, 4 July 1875

[Two lines crossed out]
As we said yesterday, we go to the church of Saint-Pierre, we young ladies on our own.
I prayed well, kneeling, my chin resting on my hands, which are very white and slender; but, remembering where I was, I hid my hands and leaned differently so as to make myself plain, by way of penance.
I am in the same mood as yesterday. I wore my aunt’s dress and hat. Coming out of church we see Audiffret drive past and doff his wretched Niçois hat. In my boisterous frame of mind I cannot go home, so I lead my noisy company to the convent opposite the church, which communicates by a back door with the house where Nina lives.
We enter that holy place bringing on our wings so much gaiety, joy and madness that the sanctified air is stirred, and the calm white sisters are cheered and come out from behind the doors with envious faces.
We see the Mother Superior through her double grille. She has been in the convent for forty years.
Poor wretch!
From there we go up to the boarders’ parlour, and there I make my Sister Thérèse dance. She wants to convert me and sings the praises of the convent, and I want to convert her too and sing the praises of the world. On Wednesday we are to make the acquaintance of the curé and the vicar.
We are up to our necks in the Catholic religion.
Well! I understand the passion people can have for churches and convents.
It is terribly hot; I rest, writing or in the garden, until four o’clock.
Then my friend Barnola comes and tells me that with my hair dressed as it is today I look like La Vallière.
Afterwards we go to the concert in two carriages, which keep side by side the whole time.
Terffidua, Enotëas and Fiouloulou come; we laugh with Girofla and Giroflé.
In the evening these three masculine Graces arrive at our house, and all together we go to that open-air ball. I am in white again. They bring me Désiré, the Comte d’Etienne de Robillard.
Désiré is only a child, but I am as amiable with him as can be, while Girofla prowls about alone or with his uncle and clings to every plane tree he meets until someone comes to unhook him.
He dances with me, and instead of taking me back to our corner (we occupy a whole corner; the dancing is in a long, square space under fine trees hung with flags and lit up, and the musicians are in a nest of greenery) — I was saying, then, that instead of taking me back to my place, he says to me:
— Let us take a walk, for you will go straight off and hide over there with the others. And he says it in such a voice that I answer:
— Let us go.
— Is it true that you are leaving?
— Yes, quite true; they even say I shall not come back. But that is…
— Yes, that is… he repeats in the same tone. I should explain that at the concert there was talk of what Barnola had said — that is, that he has a presentiment I shall marry in Russia — and so I said to Maman:
— And what would you say if I did that?
It has its effect.
I speak of his hat; I hope it will not reappear.
I sit out a quadrille with our party; Girofla and Giroflé tease each other and amuse us. But when another polka begins:
— Mademoiselle, I assure you this is our dance — the other one did not count — really, it is this one, etc., etc.
— Very well, I tell him at last, let us dance.
— Ah! That is more like it. And off we go.
And the Skariatines and all the local ladies are furious to see me with all their partners. Especially Godard, the prefect’s son, to whom the little Skariatine is paying frantic court. It has gone so far that her mother tried to take my partners away from me by carrying them off to tea at her house. That garden and hers adjoin. But they escape, all except Désiré, who comes back to complain to me of Mlle Skariatine’s attentions.
Nina and Maman say that, in despair at seeing me with Désiré, Girofla is knocking his forehead against every tree. Nina has such a funny way of telling things that one laughs at everything.
At half past twelve it begins to rain and we leave.
— Come, Monsieur, get up and give me your arm as far as our carriage.
And everyone, following this example, gives his arm to the ladies.
Decidedly, it is impossible for me to love Girofla.
I am merely amusing myself.
— Take off your hat and hold it over mine; it is raining.
— There, he answers, obeying; not a drop gets through.
— What a man you are! One has to tell you everything.

Notes

In Italian in the original: Misera ! — “Poor wretch!” (feminine). ↩
Louise de La Vallière (1644–1710): favourite of Louis XIV, famous for her blonde beauty and gentle manner; the comparison suggests a softly romantic hairstyle. ↩