Friday, 6 July 1877

After Enghien, the dressmakers, and the Bois in a coupé, I spent two hours resting — that is to say, imagining how Alexandre would come back to me… et caetera.
I practice these fantasies without excitement or love — out of laziness and fatigue. Last year I recounted them without commentary, which may have given the impression of genuine delirium. Apropos of last year — they are making a terrible lawsuit of it: that is to say, the Comtesse Loretta Lambertini is claiming a share of the great Cardinal's inheritance. It is a most curious trial; the Figaro keeps us informed. It appears that Loretta is the daughter of a foreign young lady who subsequently married. The Cardinal conversed with her in French though she was not French herself… In any case her name will be revealed if they are pushed to extremes. She is still alive.
Here is a letter from Foster. It gives me ideas. One must arrange to meet somewhere this autumn; and after a winter in Paris with lessons, cures, and Fauvel, one would go spend the Season in London. This is no mere cloud — it is a possibility, a thing feasible and almost easy. And a Season in London!
Mme de Mertens proposes a six-hour journey to go fishing… for the Marquis de Preaulx. [He is] Among his old friends — one would visit his château.
I do not count my charms for nothing… with a man in his sixties — and besides, it would be too extraordinary, too wonderful. Moreover, his nephews would be sure to put themselves on guard, and I should retire from it with shame and ridicule. If he were here… it would be comparatively less difficult.