Monday, 16 July 1877

Well then, enough of that, Rosalie, let me write! Yes, but write what?
More hotel visits. By some chance John Arthur gives us the address of the Marquis d'Ulau's hotel. A sort of Séraphin shows us M. le marquis's bedroom, announcing that M. le marquis is a bachelor, before a bed with two scandalously rumpled pillows. Fine hangings everywhere, and a portrait of Monseigneur the Comte de Chambord. I had judged from the antechamber that we must be in the house of a man of the world and above all a well-born man. He was in the drawing room and on our entry bowed exquisitely, despite a gentleman-farmer air, and remained standing. But we retreated stupidly. The baroness was waiting for my aunt to say something and my aunt thought the baroness was about to speak.
There are little adventures that are not even adventures and yet leave a kind of regret — that is to say, I regret that we fled so stupidly. [Crossed out: There is in good manners...] I have never seen a French gentleman close up. The mere way he held himself told me that he was one, and perhaps among the best, despite a hunter's tanned complexion (we afterwards visited a very complete hunting room) — but to be distinguished one need not absolutely look like death warmed up...
What perhaps pleased me most in Alexandre was this bearing: respectful, polished, and unabashed.
Perhaps I am going to say something too simple, but I say it all the same: good manners have a very great influence on me, and the bearing of this Marquis d'Ulau for one minute charmed me.
Tomorrow I begin going to Enghien again.
It is infamous, unworthy, heartbreaking, dreadful not to be studying painting in Rome!!
Now there's something that saves me from boredom, that makes me genuinely weep!!!

Notes

Henri d'Artois, Comte de Chambord (1820–1883): the Legitimist claimant to the French throne; his portrait here signals royalist sympathies.