Monday, 27 September 1875

Gloomy weather, gloomy mood, gloomy dress. I wish people would understand that my outfits are nothing at all like those of other women.
Everything is individual, my own. Long plain gowns, fitted bodices, admirably made — without being like those exaggerated long bodices of the current fashion. My dress has much of the style of the good old days when people knew how to dress. And in the evenings, or at home, it has nothing fashionable about it.
My aunt, seeing d'Audiffret on foot, urges me to go down — but I only go down after seeing him get back into the carriage with Saëtone. This accursed Saëtone is going to take him away from us — he is sulking, I believe, because I have mocked him a good deal. Well!
I was reading in my room, in my shift, when my friend Barnola was announced. I slip on a white gown and go down. The three of us converse very tranquilly until eleven o'clock — something one could never say of the Niceois. To converse — impossible; to talk with them is rare; one cries out, one laughs, and all of it by leaps and bounds.
It is true that it is more cheerful.
One thing has astonished me. Ricardo made the journey from Nice to Marseille with Girofla, and the latter spoke to him only the best of us.
— I assure you, Madame, said Barnola, that this gentleman is greatly attached to you — he is your friend.
— Oh! really.
— He has known you only a short time, but he said so many good things of you. And you know, I know him little, very little — well, I assure you he is an excellent fellow, a good, a charming fellow.
I know it without you telling me!
And if he were otherwise, he would not occupy me as he occupies me.
— That surprises me, I say aloud — this gentleman makes a habit of speaking ill of everyone.
— Oh! really! That surprises me greatly.
— That is how it is.
You can see from this that the man is not indifferent to me — otherwise I would not take the trouble to speak ill of him.
When I say a man is disgusting, I speak the truth — but when I say a man is malicious, a gossip, stupid, cunning, ruined — that means I am lying. Especially when I say it while pursing my lips and with disdainful and sulky looks. Oh! then I am lying completely.
Did you know that Barnola finds Madame Prodgers beautiful. It is incredible.
My aunt, who had gone out after dinner — by cab and without a hat — to see Georges, who after a fortnight of drunkenness is nearly dying, my aunt I say met Girofla in the alleyway beside the villa Gioia.
Is he starting again? You see, I can just about accept his not occupying himself with me — but I will not have him occupying himself with others.
Every time Robenson is mentioned I am neither at ease nor pleased — and when my aunt or someone else says: "As for that, it is certain — she will come back and he will begin his furious courtship of her again — that is more than certain" — then I become furious and I want to beat the Prodgers woman who will bring Robenson, and I would gladly play a nasty trick on the beautiful American.