Mme Winslow called on me. The matter with Duval is settled — we depart tomorrow. "Connais-tu le pays..."? By God!

I am waiting for the notebook my aunt has gone to fetch me so that I can continue my novel — and as I have nothing to do in the meantime I try to find something to write here.

Mme Winslow told me she has never in her life seen anyone grow more beautiful as I have since Spa. Poor woman — she does not know that in Spa I was merely my own shadow, and an ugly shadow at that.

I wonder what awaits me in Nice. Shall I see the Surprising One with Robenson? Or with Gioia? Or with no one? No doubt not with me. I am well and truly done for.

I cannot accept it, even if I wished to. I should have a great many unpleasantnesses — for I should never cease hoping for what I want, and naturally at every expectation, a disappointment.

No, truly — I am tenacious. Nothing puts me off. It is both good and bad. I consult the cards; they tell me that the man thinks of me, that I am constantly in his thoughts and on his heart — and yet my own cards are not good. If he thinks of me, my cards ought to be brilliant.

I ought to go to Mme Winslow's, since we depart tomorrow. I should prefer not to go.

I went, and I made the acquaintance of her sister-in-law and her mother.

But on returning to my room I find my aunt gone out and the chambermaid making the fire. She is a Swiss wench who is always laughing. I get her to talk — and I learn some fine things.

M. Émile d'Audiffret was asked to leave this hotel because he brought bad women here, and the neighbours, hearing the commotion he was making in his room at night, complained.

"And he dined here?" I asked.

"Oh no — only at night, because in the dark, you see, in his room."

"Ah! ha!"

I have this from the chambermaid on the second floor, where he lodged — she was furious with him because he never gave her anything, only the footman, even though she did everything, for in his room everything was always in disorder and all his things were strewn about: his slippers, everything, everything.

Fie, my dear — gossiping with servants, fie!

Yes, fie! But henceforth I shall always do so. One learns very interesting things.

When the woman had gone I began jumping about like a madwoman for joy. Ah! If there were a masked ball, how I would tell him things!

But here is the trouble. In the cards for this blasted man there is always the card of travel. Will I arrive in Nice and not find him there? That would be wretched. But no matter — it is better than his contempt, and besides, what have I to do in Nice? I must go to Rome.

I had somehow imagined that the Surprising One would come to Paris this evening. But the seven o'clock train brings us only a letter from Maman. Letters from home never interested me — I never read them! And now here I am, trembling and anxious when I receive a letter.

And I cannot but say that it is on account of the Surprising One — at Schlangenbad it was the same, because my aunt always wrote of Girofla. This evening I am anxious in vain: Maman does not say a word of him.

Do I truly love him? How would I know? I note facts — that is all I can say.

To my shame I confess that if I knew the Surprising One to be anywhere other than Nice, I should not even ask my aunt what the letter contains, I should not even trouble myself whether there is news or not.

It is abominable — for he spits on me.