Wednesday, 7 July 1875

I dreamed of that coxcomb again; all night I saw him. I am sad and bored.
My mother leaves at two o’clock with Dina and Walitsky for Schlangenbad. But that is not what saddens me. I am vexed because when Audiffret leaves I shall be bored, and my aunt will think that I love him and am sad on that account.
I want his love and I do not love him. It is a sin; I have not the courage to resist it; God will punish me. Yes, if he loves me; but if he does not love me, there will be nothing to punish me for.
Something tells me that he will punish me.
They have gone! We were all at the station, and I in pink: this dress, with a bodice made as I have never seen on myself, gives me a gallant and graceful air that I have only when I am quite naked. No one wept; I sang farewell verses.
When shall I leave, then?
Marie and I settle on the deck at the baths, and my aunt stays by herself with the usual crowd.
I am bored, I am sad. My aunt comes over to us on the deck, and a few minutes later, after strutting about with the Arson young ladies, our little company was joined by our handsome Niçois arrives — but the horrid Galula follows close behind him.
The departure of our family explains my contrite air. If Maman had had the misfortune to stay, I should be very much at a loss.
— I too shall not be sorry to see these days go by, so that I can leave, says Audiffer.
— But what is keeping you? my aunt asks him.
— What can one do, Madame? There is a matter that is not finished — and it is the things that ought to be finished in twenty-four hours that drag on for months. Then, turning to me:
— Will you go to the ball on Sunday?
— I don’t know; I think not.
— Oh! But that won’t do. Why will you not go?
— What can it matter to you, since you are leaving?
— But I am not leaving on Sunday.
— When, then?
— Oh, I shall leave next week, or after — I don’t know.
— You will leave the way you have left so far, says Marie.
I complain about our family’s departure and put on no false gaiety.
As I get into the carriage I drop one of my carnations; Girofla picks it up and puts it in his buttonhole.
— Give it here, Monsieur.
— Ah! No.
— You are taking half my gaiety from me, I say plaintively.
— Ah, Mademoiselle, I need it badly too, he answers sadly.
— Come to us this evening, my aunt tells him, and we will go for a drive.
— Ah! That will be splendid.
We struck a good many of Girofla’s tender chords.
We talked of husbands who beat their wives, and, like a good son, he says the only way to be rid of a disagreeable wife is to knock her on the head. How encouraging.
I think I see his game clearly. He wants to make me fall in love with him, and I want the same thing. The scythe has struck the stone, as a Russian proverb says.
For fun, while we were at the baths, I lowered my head for a moment, fixing my eyes on I no longer know what, like all those who daydream, and I felt eager eyes watching me.
Good — he thinks he is having his effect. The fool grows rich in his own thoughts, says another Russian proverb.
I put on the embroidered white cashmere dress, do my hair with a broad black velvet band round my head like a Niçois peasant girl, and go to chat with our neighbours in the rue de France. The good women are delighted. This evening I take a melancholy tone, and on leaving the tea table I go and stand in the embrasure of a window, and Audiffret comes to join me there. We talk of the stars, and this handsome young man makes witticisms about the Good Lord, the gas, the meter to which the Good Lord has the key, etc., etc.
I am indignant, and speak to him of God and the Church with severity and piety. No, really — just picture me preaching!
We do not go for the drive. My aunt is shamefully downcast. At half past eleven they leave. That Galula is detestable; he has made caricatures of yesterday’s games. I burned mine.
Dina’s is a very good likeness, but we did not laugh. It was stupid. That dirty, common clerk spoils my handsome Niçois for me — and he alone is bearable. I do not understand this mania for dragging all sorts of things about in one’s wake.
And yet that jolt must mean something. Only two men have ever made me feel it. It is not that I love this one, since with the other it was the same, and I detested the other.
Well, we shall see.