Wednesday, 22 November 1876

Ah, if only Pietro — the depraved, the vile, the infamous — could die! He would become... my finest memory, and an inexhaustible source of melancholy for my idle moments and even for others.
Berthe came to see me — dear little thing. Caroline delights me; she dresses me as I have never been dressed before.
Mouzay came — Monsieur was presented to her, and to her daughter as well. But it is not for these good souls that he is needed.
Paul de Cassagnac left two calling cards. I blushed with pleasure finding them on the table, and blushed again with regret. Accursed Caroline who made me miss him!
I went to consult la Moreau; she predicted so much happiness for me that I cannot believe it. If she speaks truly... he had better watch out.
Then... yes, part of the evening was spent at the Mertens' who had tenderly invited me this morning. Mouzay and her daughter were there, fortunately.
Oh! But in the evening I had an immoderate desire to see Paul et Virginie... no: Paul de Cassagnac.
How to see him again? I cannot write a second time — then it is impossible to see him — and I am dying of longing to!...
Ah! Rome! When shall I be in Rome!!!
The witch told me that he loves me more than I love him, and that I loved him more than he loved me.
Then I gave her Pacha's hair (I brought back from Russia locks of hair from six or seven people) and, having examined them, she drew the cards and told me:
— "As for that one — he will do whatever you wish... it is certain."