Friday, 22 June 1877

I have begun this execrable life of shops — necessary, however. Staying in Paris means I must almost entirely renew my wardrobe.
What exhausts one to the utmost degree is getting in and out of the carriage more than twelve times. And this business, as Rosalie calls it, will last three or four days — that is, until I have a dark dress to go about town in.
We were at Dr. Fauvel's; he prescribes a fifteen-day cure at Enghien. I comply — but… I see my illness with such wide-open eyes that the treatment he prescribes seems so slight a thing that I have no faith in an early recovery…
I am tired and sad. Mme Armstrong, the baroness's sister, wearies me with her continuous raptures over everything I do. Her admiration is so absurd! It is not falseness, but it is a constant effort to please, to say yes, to go into ecstasies — which would be repellent if one supposed the least malice hidden beneath all these flowers, garlands, and triumphal arches.
To be up in the air, to run about shops of dresses, hats and so on, still not to know what one will do — that is a torment Dante forgot.