Tuesday 31 August 1875

It is amusing to pass through the hotel courtyard before luncheon, after, each time one goes out or comes in. What a difference from that little hotel in the rue de la Paix where one never saw anyone.
The devil knows why I have had an ugly face ever since I arrived in Paris. It is true that I go to bed late, but that is not reason enough — in Nice I went to bed late of late and yet looked fresh. Besides, having gone to bed after midnight three times ought not to ruin one's looks entirely. It is dreadful to have to go to bed at ten o'clock to preserve one's face, and dare go neither to the theatre nor to a soirée!
Can my illness of last summer be returning? That thought makes me tremble. Every time I grew a little pale the same fear tormented me. I fear nothing in the world as much as that weakness, that pallor, that detestable state! O my God, keep me from these horrors.
We go to the Bois — against my usual habit I am in dark blue, black hat, tired face.
How right I was to say that there is nothing more fragile than my beauty. Those who saw me today would shrug at those words: my beauty. It is overcast — there is quite a crowd but no Girofla.
In the evening at the Gaîté: La Chatte blanche, of which my Schlangenbad acquaintances spoke so much. It is silly — there is a superb, marvellous scenic effect; the rest is very ordinary.
I have received a letter from Berthe — this charming creature does not forget me. The letter is attached to page 102. It seems strange to me to correspond with this girl; we see each other once a year, for a few minutes, and that is all.
[Letter from Berthe Boyd]
Royat
B.B. (monogram)
Dear Marie,
A thousand apologies, which I scarcely dare offer you, for not having come to chat with you for an instant before now — but I rely upon your kindness to grant me a pardon little deserved. We arrived last evening from Aix, where the heat prevented all correspondence. I hope you found Madame your mother in good health, as well as your cousin.
We leave here perhaps tomorrow, and since for three weeks we shall have no fixed address, I would ask you to write to me at: 33 Champs-Élysées, Paris
from which the letter will be forwarded to me. Remember, when you return to Paris, your promise to come and see me, for I absolutely must introduce you to Maman — and since she has heard me speak of you for so long she would like to make your acquaintance, as well as that of Madame your mother. Aix was very gay — dancing continually and good dancers, which is rare enough.
My respects to Madame your mother, and please remember me to your cousin; as for you, I send you a thousand warm wishes.
Your friend,
Berthe Boyd.
Since the evening's play held no interest, I fell to thinking. About whom? About the illustrious lord of the manor, no doubt.
I reflected that I was a great fool. I say it often, but one cannot repeat such a truth too many times.
What do you expect, good people — I am tenacious, and once I have latched onto any idea, it is difficult for me to abandon it. Just as to this day I have not ceased to think about becoming Duchess of Hamilton.
In the same way I shall not abandon this idea of punishing Monsieur d'Audiffret — Monsieur Émile d'Audiffret — for his boastfulness, his presumption, his don-juanesque desires. Especially now, when no one else occupies my thoughts. This tenacity will not last long, I believe, and the moment another creature arrives to replace him I shall throw him to the devil.
But in the meantime I do not stop writing about him and noting his gestures and words. I do it out of pure idleness.
For my own sake, for my inner self, I would not even do that — but I have been beaten in the eyes of my whole family, which confounds and vexes me greatly.
To rehabilitate myself in their eyes I wish to triumph. This idea of so shameful a defeat makes me so miserable that everything now makes the ugliest grimace at me — whereas before everything gave me the most charming smile.
I forget to mention that I was at Laferrière's — Caroline is back; she at least smiles at me. And I order five dresses for the winter.