Varpahovsky lunched with us again. I am in rather a bad humour; I go walking with my Graces. Marie returns and Giro comes to my room, and we amuse ourselves roasting oranges in the fireplace, which makes us burst out laughing at every moment. Moreover, the lighted windows of Léon's tower give us an idea — and we swear, placing our hands under the thigh as Abraham did,¹ to carry out this idea. The plan is to go at night, at four o'clock, when the wicked are already asleep and the good not yet awake, and plant on the château gate an immense "You will rot!" attached to a pole like a placard.

We picture to ourselves the awakening of father and son and all their bad spirits — and the effect this new banner will have on them. Bigre! How annoying it is to forget — I was about to cite a historical fact: some figure, I forget who, who went and planted I know not what near the temple of Minerva with a certain inscription. I must look it up in a book. It is absurd to forget.

Dina told my fortune — and she predicted such things that I go to bed entirely undone, as though soiled by this prediction.

Imagine — an abduction, and all that follows from it!

I have left in my room a dozen oranges in case of nocturnal combat; besides which I had the fire-tongs, the shovel, the andirons, two candlesticks, and various other items.