# Thursday, 15 February 1877

Thursday, 15 February 1877

Larderel’s coachman has not yet left and I send Rosalie to him every moment for news.
Pelikan left yesterday evening. Poor, good old man.
I continue to hate myself.
I skated among all our escorts from the veglione — Prince Ruffo has an irresistibly comic and refined smile. The suave young man was there, having lost a good deal of his suavity on skates.
Only it seemed to me that people were looking at me with contempt. No one knows me. This fancy is atrocious.
I have never before taken an interest in a man with a daughter; the novelty of the thing, and this idea that Larderel — a child himself — has a... child, amuses me immensely.
I am in a state of great agitation... I rest only when Rosalie comes to tell me that she... has learned nothing new.
It seems to me I should be happier knowing that Larderel is a perfect plobster, for I would pursue him with more... pleasure, since... it would be worth tormenting oneself over. I am always vexed when the object is unworthy.
Conceal nothing from yourselves: it is indeed I who am courting him.
I have not a moment of calm. What if I were to love? To know what it is... that would be amusing.
Dina teases me about that little girl, and every time I hear “his daughter,” “her father,” it produces the strangest effect on me.
Were I less pitiable I should not speak of this man, for he is not, I fear, what he ought to be — and then, who is to say...
Good night.

Notes

plobster — Marie’s private code word for a fashionable young man and potential admirer, apparently made from English “lobster”; kept as she wrote it. ↩