Thursday, 22 July 1875

Yesterday I spoke to the moon, and last night she showed me — guess whom? Audiffret! It is outrageous. The moon is taking liberties.
I am uneasy. All these dreams — and then the cards keep telling me of a marriage in which a dark man is always alone. [?]. I should be curious to know by what miracle it could come about. Never by my will, never. Besides, there are plenty of dark men. Miloradovitch is dark, Blackprince too. Ah! if only it were Blackprince!
In the dream Girofla was giving us dinner at his house, and in his garden he had a house built of strawberries, ravishingly large and fresh. Saëtone comes up, I look, and his waistcoat too is made of strawberries. Girofla was offering me gherkins: “Gherkins — you will marry a fool,” says my dream book. That is reassuring; so I shall not marry the Niçois.
Editors’ note
[Two lines crossed out]
At the concert we see Saëtone, Galula and Danis. The last says that neither he nor d’Aspremont can forget my entrance at the Carnival committee — that it was done with too much grace and charm. I send him on my behalf to challenge Saëtone to a duel, and, as Mercury refuses, I throw down my glove to him. Meanwhile Galula steals the other one. They will not give them back, and so I am robbed of a brand-new pair of gloves. Truly, they are not worth a pair of gloves.
Before going home we go to the café. The Graces and Machenka dine with me, and afterwards we chatter and laugh — about Girofla, no doubt.
We recalled what a fright I was — hunchbacked, skinny and lame; how we walked up and down before his windows, from which he watched us with an astonished air, without a waistcoat, in his shirtsleeves.
And then how we greeted all the passers-by and went to the baths, by the sea, where there was a crowd.
One remembers a thousand little things one did not even notice at the time and which seem so amusing now.
I feel sad, and yet I have no reason to be. I should like to be alone to think.
Oh! not of that man — let no one insult me by thinking that. He amused me, that is all. I was wrong to get angry, to seethe, to fret. He is a man made of guile through and through; he wanted to catch me — fortunately I am no fool and can see through his game.
And truly it would be pleasing to God to teach that rogue a lesson. Not all girls are like me, and he takes advantage of them without the least scruple.
How fortunate it is, then, that I am as I am. To punish him would be to avenge a great many people. Ah, if God would grant me that grace!