Last evening, after leaving the Sapogenikoffs, I spoke to the moon: *Moon, O beautiful moon, show me in my sleep him whom I shall marry in my...
I fell asleep broken and I wake up quite strange. I cannot account for what I feel. I am furious, sad, vexed.
Let clever people not believe in cards and dreams — I, who am only a simple creature, believe in them.
Worse still! I was seeing Girofla. Well — last night I saw Girofla again, but not alone; with that horror of a man, the abominable Pole!
Since six o'clock this morning, Désiré has been at the town hall. Tomorrow we shall see whether he passed. Poor little fellow — he is only eighteen...
I drew a caricature of Smirnoff — that good-natured creature, naïve and rather stupid.
[End of page and the two following pages blank] *Quid evenit?*