I was calm, I was tranquil; I went out with Dina in my little otter-fur bonnet — I was pretty, people looked at me a great deal. Then we took Girofla — Giro, as I have been calling him for some time. We bring him to dine at the house, and afterwards we laugh and are truly witty — but in vain: there is no one to listen to us. So many pretty words wasted! If only some journalist could hear them, the news columns would be more amusing. I would have given a great deal for the Surprising One to be able to see us through a keyhole: Giro with legs crossed, smoking a cigarette; Dina in the attitude of a Chinese doll, chin in hand; myself stretched out on the floor beside Frédéric.

[Written crosswise: Frédéric is a dog!]

And what we were saying of him! I lay down on the floor because Dina said: "It is an old and sacred attachment!" Those words have on me the same effect that the name of Hamilton used to have. I become entirely nervous, entirely I know not what — and if I did not lie down on the floor, I should have to smash everything, beginning with myself.

"I understand you," says Dina. "Even for me, it makes an unpleasant impression. To think of these words said about Robenson!"

"Indeed!" I cried, lifting my head from the carpet and then letting it drop back heavily. "And said by an Audiffret — a vicious man, a chaser after women, a Nice playboy who spends his life between Laura, Gioia, the actresses, the girls, etc. etc. — it would be fitting for a Raoul de Bragelonne, a hero of romance, a man who has loved one woman, and a woman not in the least like the Pointed American."

In the mouth of a young scamp like the Surprising One it becomes ten times, a hundred times stronger, more amorous, more religious! Listen — for anyone to say as much of me I would give everything in the world! Such a phrase provoked by a Robenson! Something sacred, something holy — with Robenson! Ah! you see — it is enough to make one rage!

"I quite understand," says Dina. "And why should it bother me! Well, I too am raging!" says Dina.

"Ah! my dear, if I were not lying down I should have to break something, to exterminate someone! Look — I think I shall get up and smash that chair." And I rose to do so — but Dina stopped me by pointing out that we were not rich in furniture.

The cards predict black things for me. I was calm — and now I am jealous of the whole world in general and of Robenson in particular, whom I caught a glimpse of today on the Promenade, in a closed carriage.

It is terrible to be despised and abandoned by everyone! For a moment in the summer I was better off — winter comes and once again I become the most wretched of creatures. Not to speak of the Surprising One — but even that stupid Émile d'Audiffret — look at all the others: scoundrels, dogs, Hamiltons, who spit on me.

It must change or I shall die of it! The cards predict an imminent death. I was patient as long as I was a child — but on the twelfth of January I shall be seventeen! I am desolate, miserable!

In front of Giro and Dina I sang "Connais-tu le pays..." — in my slip and short skirt like Mignon, with hair loose and gestures and feeling — like an actress, in a word. I sang admirably.

The Surprising One looks at no one but Pasqua, and goes nowhere but backstage. They say he is in love with Meccoci, the prima donna leggiera.¹ I think I shall take a fancy for Pasqua — I shall give her bouquets and a piece of jewellery. It has already happened to me, seven years ago, to patronize a singer in Russia — I gave her a fine medallion with an emerald. It will distract me.

I am bored like a wretch.

It is midnight — I shall not be fresh tomorrow; but what does my face matter! It must be our unhappy fate to be despised by everyone.

Oh! if you knew how terrible this is for a character like mine.

Alone, everywhere, always alone! What have I done so wrong to be so punished, so ill-treated? I say nothing of Audiffret — that would be a luxury.

I turn toward God — and He repulses me; He does not listen to me. Shall I ever be happy? Never — since I am going to die.

You will say: you say that because you are in love. No — I do not say it because I am in love: two years ago, and last year, one cannot say that I was in love — and I was just as wretched as now. I am weary, weary, weary of these eternal lamentations.

And the impossibility of not lamenting!

Oh! I must be a great sinner — otherwise God would not make me so sad, so abandoned!

"Mme de Daillens told me," said Dina, "that Robenson tied Bibi's cravat in front of everyone at Prodgers': 'Come here, my dear, and let me arrange your cravat,' she said — and Bibi knelt down before her. All the ladies were scandalized."

There is yet another thing that puts me in a rage!

Why am I alone in being despised! If I were ugly, or stupid, or worn-out, or old, like the Lacroix women, like Storiatine — but I am sixteen, I am pretty, I have wit. One must be born neither beautiful, nor witty, nor rich, says a Russian proverb — but one must be born lucky.²

Yes — lucky. That is the greatest word. Why am I unhappy?

Every evening I should say what I say this evening — if it were not absurd to repeat the same thing.

Rest assured that if I do not say it, I think it always — and all last winter I thought it: at every moment, everywhere, at lessons as at the theatre. I shall go and pray... yes — but to what end! Am I heard? Am I answered? Is anyone merciful toward me?

Hélène and Lise Howard are happy! Their happiness is an affront to me — for they have outraged me!

I ask why I am unhappy. No — I have no wit: does one ask such questions when one has wit?

One is born happy or unhappy, and nothing avails — neither prayers, nor tears, nor laws! I am the living proof. Everything fails me!

Ah! yes — I have an entire apartment to myself, I have dresses, boots like no one else! But why! But what use is it!

It is half past midnight.

When shall I go to Rome? I want to study; I am wasting my time for nothing. If one does nothing one must at least amuse oneself, go into society. I waste my time and am bored — the foul Nice world rejects me.