Tuesday, 2 November 1875

Every five minutes the shutters of the castle change position — now one window, now another. But I do not show myself.

I must go to Paris. The weather is fine and bright; I dress all in white and we go out — but I am made to wait a full half-hour, which I employ in posing at the garden gate with Frédéric.

It is All Souls’ Day¹ — the Niçois are promenading. Olga signals from her window that Girofla has just ridden past on horseback; and indeed a little further along we see him, dressed all in grey, on a pretty black horse.

Bihovetz, that charming man, is with us — but I am on edge and playing the capricious one; one word more and I would fly into a fury; no one says it, and I retreat into myself.

The grey horseman draws ahead; Maman and my aunt tell him he has a pretty horse, and I too let fall two words from my rosebud lips.

“Very pretty.”

As he slackens his pace we catch sight of him again; then he draws ahead once more and heads off toward the Var, where Mlle Arson and her brother gallop after him with all their might.

We are in winter now; the straits of the flies² are beginning to fill.

“What, him again!” says Maman, seeing the impetuous lord of the castle turn back into the lane.

“Yes,” I say, “and you shall see — within an hour he will be on the Promenade on foot, in his top hat³ and grey frock coat.”

And I guessed right: having taken chocolate at Rumpelmayer’s⁴ in town with my Graces, I then went on foot with my aunt.

It was growing dark; we had been away from the Promenade for a full hour. As we approached no. 53, we saw the Surprising One on the other side of the street; he crossed at once and came toward us.

I have truly no remorse — and one is permitted to take an interest in so handsome a young man.

What is curious is the world here — this wretched world stares until their eyes might pop out whenever the Surprising One is near me.

He does not treat me with contempt — but is amiable in the most ordinary way, and I am entirely natural. Only I said that I was bored, that there was no one about; I owed him that — one recalls that he once said the same thing to me.

“But it is bitterly cold⁵ in Paris; my father writes to me, and he is in Paris at the moment.”

“I too have a letter from Paris,” I say, putting my hand to the pocket containing the letter I received this morning from Berthe.

“Ah ha! Come now — I am very fond of reading, like so!”

“Tut, tut — wait!”

“But one may read it,” says my aunt.

“Here, Monsieur — do you know this gentleman?” And I showed him the line in which Berthe writes of a certain Count de Pertusati.

“Ah ha! Pertusati — yes, I know him; he was here last winter. How is it you do not know him? He is an Italian with a black moustache.”

All this conversation is recorded only to arrive at the fact that in order to read that gentleman’s name in my letter, he came very close and read almost over my shoulder — which gave me great pleasure, because he did it on purpose. One always feels when such things are done on purpose.

But I do everything wrong. Today, for example, I ought to have come home at four o’clock and stationed myself on my terrace — I would thus have spoken to the man tête-à-tête, since we saw him coming from that direction, from our house, on our side of the street and not on the Promenade.

Yesterday I complained that he did nothing to see me. Who knows? Perhaps not seeing me he supposed I had gone in and was on my terrace, and walked over for that reason. What makes me think so is that he was walking on the other side of the Promenade.

On Sunday Dina saw him pass our house three times.

It is very probable that he was merely strolling — but one may also suppose something else, for we live rather far up, and in general people turn back before reaching our house.

As after dinner I was pacing the dining room and strutting like a rooster⁶ before my people, my aunt says:

“Just look at her! If Audiffret had not begged so earnestly that she go to the theatre this evening, she would certainly go — but since he begged and implored her, she stays at home.”

“It is not right,” observes Madame my Mother, “to take offence at the slightest things — that way one can have neither peace nor happiness in life.”

“But Madame, you know nothing of the matter! You do not know the man! It is only by this means that I have obtained a little civility from him. The devil take it — it is necessary, otherwise he treats me with contempt — do understand that!”

They call me the lady of the castle,⁷ and Walitsky exhausts himself with jokes about Audiffret. Grand-papa too teases me — but I have my weapon ready: the moment he says “Audiffret” I strike up a song he detests, or cry out at the top of my lungs: “Shoulder ar...-quebuses! Yes, papa!⁸”

Then he begs for mercy, laughing. I must rid myself of this Pantalone manner⁹ that Audiffer has given me. I imitate him like a mirror — his voice, his gestures, everything.

And my Graces imitate me, so that Audiffret has rubbed off on everyone.

The jolt¹⁰ was dampened by the gloves — but I felt it.

I shall have to leave on Thursday. I shall pray to God for it — without Him nothing will go right for me.

Maman says I want to leave because of Girofla. That is nearly true — no, my dresses are greatly on my mind. I ought to have left without warning, but the cards predict something like a journey for the handsome one; if he leaves before me, I would be embarrassed to go — I would look as though I were following him — but by announcing my journey in advance I am armoured.¹¹

There are all my little calculations.

Amen.