Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 9 July 1875

I feel as though I have been steeped in lukewarm water — despite my pink dress, despite Girofla equally flushed, I speak slowly and like an affected person.
Coming out of the bath, Mother Georges (she who runs the establishment) comes to greet me, to tell me I am pretty, that she has known me since I was this tall (showing with her hand a height of one metre), then:
— But Monsieur Emile I have known since he was very small too, she says. Is that not so, Monsieur Emile?
She calls this out to the said Monsieur Emile, who has gone to ferret about in the cabins where the bathers stay and where they dine.
They seat us next to each other, like — I don't know who.
This evening Girofla comes and brings his Fiouloulou. We have drawn stupid caricatures which we show them.
We go to the garden, we play four corners, we come back inside again. Olga locks her brother in the dining room and hides his hat.
He spent the whole evening trying to steal my photographs from the albums, and every time was caught by my aunt. Then making monkey tricks with Olga, stamping on the floor with his feet like a spoiled child, and demanding my portrait.
We play and run about like children.
And yet the girls are sixteen and the boys twenty-four and twenty-five. Bihovetz and my aunt alone remain calm.