Thursday, 3 August 1876

I have not a single book. I have read two volumes of Bulwer — The Last of the Barons — "and, once again, I have nothing left," as in Audiffret's lament.
How differently the same events seem when they arrive at different moments! If, in the early days of my stay in Rome, Audiffret had come to call, I should have had my servants sweep him out after saying to him a quantity of absurdities full of vehemence and dignity. And now — he went up to my aunt, spoke to her, regretted with warmth not having known until that day of our presence in Paris, in the same hotel as himself; the following day he came at the hour my aunt indicated, and it was we who had broken the appointment this time.
And moreover — this single act of lodging at the Grand Hôtel, which he knew to be my hotel, instead of the Hôtel Splendide, which is his usual one — how much comment would that alone have provoked?

Notes

The Last of the Barons: historical novel by Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1843), set during the Wars of the Roses. In English in the original.