Thursday, 2 August 1877

I went to the Bon Marché with my family; on leaving we ran into Mesdames Boyd and Yorke and stayed there chatting for more than a quarter of an hour.
And this evening, learning that Maman and Dina were going to the Bois with Miss Hall, I put on an overcoat with three capes like Robespierre over my white hooded smock, a hat of God knows what sort, and a brown mantilla, and went with them. It was dark (at nine o’clock) but I looked outlandish all the same. I talked of Florence, of all its society, and consequently of my family, of Alexandre and of Silène. We spoke English and Italian. The little one — or rather the tall one — knows all about everything. It took very little to unsettle me again and set me dreaming once more of the pale face of Larderel framed in black hair against a ground of deep green velvet. She had only to say that Larderel was regarded as one of the handsomest men in Florence, and then... from the way she speaks of him I saw that I was not mistaken, and that my Larderels are something.
On our return we took cooling drinks (no drunkenness this evening) around the dining-room table, and as Larderel was spoken of again and I grew animated, Maman suddenly exclaimed:
— No! Not everything that happens is for the best! The proverb lies!
And tears... I understood well enough why — and it made me think again of what one must never tell anyone. There are things one must keep to oneself...
Anyway, Miss Hall offers me letters for friends, especially for Miss Smith, who has one of the most elegant salons in Florence. That flatters my obsession.

Notes

The Bon Marché: Paris’s pioneering department store, founded in 1852 and redesigned by Gustave Eiffel and Louis-Charles Boileau between 1869 and 1887; a landmark of modern retail and bourgeois shopping culture. ↩