Sunday morning — or rather at noon — I woke up, and at once began thinking of the day before yesterday and of Antonelli.
Yet I should like to settle one thing for myself. Do I love him or do I not? I have built up such a notion of grandeur and wealth that Pietro strikes...
I was woken at noon at the very moment when I was dreaming that Mme Bueno was embracing me and congratulating me on my forthcoming marriage.
I wrote to Domenica and replied to Yssayevitch, taking care when writing to the latter to space the words out so that the letter would seem longer.
I went out this morning and posted my letter — or rather my flower.
Mme de Wykerslooth called on us while I was working on the portrait.
After church we called on Mme de Ballote. Then I set to painting; at five o'clock my aunt arrived exclaiming about who she had seen.