Thursday, 8 March 1877

I kept to my room, and while Maman and Dina were at the Fabbricatores' I had Rosalie tell me how Charles, Monsieur the coachman, had told her about my error with the door, embellishing the fright I had taken. Then I told her the same story and she repeated it back to me with variations. In this way I came to see him in my mind's eye with closed eyes, and consequently to be quite mad about him. I dreamed of him last night; he has attained the status of a legend.
I must not get carried away and allow myself a love affair before I have reached where I want to be — except as a means of getting there.
Maman put me into a rage that turned into a fainting fit of anger by saying the most absurd things. There is only she in the world who can enrage me so — she does not mean what she says but says it for... the devil knows why! What was most horrible was that she maintained I would do very well to accept M. Janvier de la Motte, and when I said I had not enough, and that he would leave me only some ten thousand francs a year, she replied that was quite enough for my dresses, to go about in society a great deal, to entertain and to shine.
One word will explain why I was struck dumb with impatience and rage:
Being unmarried and going only to the theatre, I already spend more than ten thousand francs.