I slept until two o'clock; I barely have time to lunch before the Promenade. It is very cold and I am obliged to wear my fur — which in any case, with my great white dress trimmed from top to bottom with braids placed crosswise, gives me the look of a princess of old Poland, or of a boyar's wife from old Russia.

Nothing is beautiful but white.

White alone is lovable.

It should reign everywhere.

And even on the table.

What was I saying! Mlle Bueno has arrived. Poor Émile — when he returns he will not know which way to run.

Now Maman, in the boy's absence, wants to see the parallel to my Paris journey.

"You think he occupies himself with me?" I say. "Disabuse yourself, please — he spits on me."

"Whether he occupies himself with you or not," I am told, "the facts are there — it may be coincidence, but it is very strange."

[In the margin: To imagine that the whole universe comes to Nice on account of Audiffret! It is too much.]

It is not I alone who believes that this man must be mine. That consoles me.

I did not see my beautiful unknown — I looked for him everywhere, in vain.

This evening I read some good books — it has been so long since I have read anything. It is very wrong of me and I suffer greatly from it.

One cannot imagine my impatience to go to Rome and return to work. To study, to study, to study! That is my desire!

I become quite joyful at the sight of my dear books, my beloved classics, my charming Plutarch. I shall take several books with me to read in Rome — for I do not suppose we shall see much of the world there; we know no one in Rome. Ohimè!^ohime