I see the whole affair clearly. Galula said nothing — he has too much sense to say anything. This fine piece of news was invented by Nina and Marie, those fat stupid jugs. Only now do I recall how often Marie has spoken to me of Galula's hopeless passion for me. Barnola, that collector of everything, went to Nina's, and that charming female monkey spoke to him of Galula — and the great gossip seized on this news and went chattering about. That is all. It is clear as day, at noon.

This morning I went out walking alone — there are too many people about for walking alone.

Bihovetz comes, and we go to the concert. There is a crowd. Bihovetz and Varpahovsky — the former aide-de-camp of that Grand Duke Nicolas who caused so much scandal — are near us.

And here comes Audiffret approaching the carriage — emerging from goodness knows where, as is his way.

He bounds up, chatters, and looks as though he is about to leave at every moment.

"Are you in Nice for long?"

"For eight days, I believe."

"What! You are leaving again!"

"Indeed yes," says my aunt.

"And where to?"

"To Rome."

"Yes, to Rome," I say.

"But you do nothing but travel, Mademoiselle — it is truly terrible! You are a revolver!"

Let who can explain it! I am a revolver! What an absurd man.

"And what are you doing yourself?" asks my aunt.

"Oh, nothing — I shall go to dinner, then to the theatre, then to sleep. I am exceedingly charming when I sleep."

Triple fool!

He goes off, and we walk on foot — my aunt, the general, and I. The general makes me laugh by pointing out the different ways in which people look at me: the men at my face, the women at my dress.

We encounter the Surprising One with Désiré and receive two fine bows — nec plus.¹

Back home I recount my letters to Audiffret to Collignon and read her the Prediction of Cassandra, which she finds very good but exceedingly bold. This evening to the Opera, with the general.

I am flushed and do not feel pretty.

The Surprising One is in his box with the old worn-out dog, and all the other dogs come to him as they would to a great lady or a prefect.

Ricardo and Fiouloulou come to see us.

The blasted Surprising One goes out at every interval but is seen in no box.

He occupies himself only with his singers. They are performing La Favorite — Pasqua sings beautifully.

I am not disappointed — I no longer expect anything. But my aunt is furious on my behalf; she thought he would come, since he came to speak to us at the concert.

Truly, I do not understand these Nice gentlemen: they had themselves introduced, showed such eager attentiveness, one received them — and now not one pays a visit.

With the best will in the world I shall never understand it.

The worn-out dog is thin and old, but he resembles his blasted son. They are a fine sight together.

Poor Prodgers is alone — no one comes to see her.

Manara stares at me through his glasses, and two others in Bibi's box do the same.

On the way out I see only Désiré and Enoteas.

I cannot imagine what Audiffret is doing: he is quite odd — he goes nowhere, courts no one, occupies himself only with the singers. Perhaps he is waiting for Robenson to appear, who, as at the beginning of the Spa season, is not yet showing herself.

I am afraid I looked at him too much this evening — but we are directly opposite him, and without thinking one looks straight ahead. He conducted himself quite naturally and did not avoid looking at me, but even studied me through his glasses — though hidden behind his father.

Like that, I prefer it — at least I know where I stand. He no longer makes faces and behaves as others do.

I love him much less — almost not at all. I am calm, almost content. I showed myself gay at the theatre. I occupy myself with him out of habit.

From now on I no longer wish to occupy myself with anyone, to run after anyone.

I am becoming Galatea. Let me be brought to life, if anyone wishes.

At least that way one will not look like a beaten dog, a worn-out dog.