Friday, 18 August 1876 (6 August)

Last evening I was about to go to bed, but Pietro’s letter lying on the table held me spellbound; I took it and pressed it violently to my lips.
I was very pale and exhausted.
It would have been better to have gone to bed earlier — that incident would not have occurred.
There was to have been a great gathering of neighbours, but the rain has been falling since morning, and these good lords and ladies think twice before undertaking a journey of ten to thirty kilometres in such weather — so in the event there was no one at all save Dina, who had not yet left, the two Hamalias (to speak in the Little Russian fashion), and toward evening Mme and Mlle Tarnovsky.
This evening I observed and took note.
It is quite extraordinary how much more ponderous Russians are than the French when it comes to parlour games requiring wit. One practically went hoarse explaining a single round of “papiers.” And no one could ever understand why they were in the hot seat. My aunt Marie left everything entirely to me and I had the pleasure of entertaining the drawing room. We improvised a cotillion with a candle, an umbrella, a cushion, and a little bell.
At one in the morning we sat down to table for the fifth time.