Thursday, 17 May 1877

Happy in my soft, elegant little nest, in my flowering garden. Nice does not exist; I am in the country, at home, I see nothing else — except the Skating rink, which was entirely empty, but as we were eight or ten people, we formed a superb audience. I cannot manage to skate alone — no one in the world would believe me timid, and yet I am frightened to death.
It is Audiffret who is not pleased. We ran into him with Laurenti, who was leaving just as we were arriving. A few words were exchanged. He could not reasonably turn back on seeing us arrive, so he had to leave — but he came back twice, looking as embarrassed as possible and therefore stiff, standing at the top of the steps watching us skate. I behaved as if he were not there. He came to greet Maman as she left with Mme Kondareff and told her it had been ages since he had seen her. I am quite glad he is bored to death — no more tower, no more following, Mme Vigier and so forth — he has had enough of all that; nobody at the Club and above all no money. No resources at all, in short. He is greatly vexed at not being able to come back to our house; I see it and I enjoy it. The sea baths, the outings, the quiet summer evenings — all that appears to him now like a perfume, like a burst of laughter, and there were so many bursts of laughter.
[Written across the page: For him.]
"Keep him at arm's length," said Mademoiselle Collignon.
Yes indeed — and without regret, since tormenting him gives me more pleasure than seeing him would, if pleasure there be... and given the desert in which I find myself.
I should very much like to know whether Alexandre has replied to my last note... I have just written to the Hôtel du Louvre.