Sunday, 27 August 1876 (15 August)

I have grown as passionate about croquet as an Englishwoman. I battled Paul until nightfall, and I won.
Pacha took part in the contest as a spectator and got more worked up than I have ever seen him.
— How affected he is! said Paul.
Whereupon the other swore by God and on his mother’s life that he was sincere, and to prove it better still he vowed to eat nothing until tomorrow if I won. The young man got a taste of mockery all through dinner. And afterwards there was so much talk of Cassagnac that I am quite astonished... Why astonished? Because I have the gift of making my interests and my knowledge become those of the people I am with. I am not at Gavronzi now; I am in Rome, in Naples, in Paris.
For the first time in my life I have punished someone — namely, Chocolat.
He wrote to his mother asking her permission to stay on in Russia at higher wages than those I pay him. This ingratitude pained me on his account, and, calling him in, I exposed his baseness before everyone and ordered him to go down on his knees. The child went down on his knees. The child began to cry and would not obey, so I was obliged to take him by the shoulders and the knees, and, more from shame than from force, he knelt, jolting a shelf laden with Sèvres. And I, standing in the middle of the drawing room, hurled the thunderbolts of my eloquence and ended by saying that I would send him back to France in fourth class with the oxen and the sheep, through the good offices of the consul of the Negroes.
— Shame, shame, Chocolat! You will be a lost man. Get up — for shame! Go away!
I had worked myself up in earnest, and when, five minutes later, this little monkey came to beg my pardon, I led him into a room apart and told him, like a mother, that if he repented only because M. Paul had pushed him to it, I did not want his repentance.
— Chocolat, listen. If you admit of your own accord that you were wrong, if you are sincerely sorry for having behaved badly, I forgive you, and I want to believe that you will mend your ways. But if M. Paul sent you, go away, and do not come back until you have thought it over and understood.
— I have already... I have already understood, howled Chocolat, in tears. I did not write what she says... I did not say I want to go with the others, I only said in it that... that... it is not like that.
— So you are sorry, of your own accord?
He was crying with his fists pressed to his eyes.
— Tell me, Chocolat; I will not be angry.
— Y...es.
— Very well, go. I forgive you. But do you understand that all this is for your own good?
— Y...es, I do understand.
Ah! Chocolat will be either a great man or a great wretch!