Tuesday, 11 December 1877

Grand-papa can no longer speak. I went in to see him this morning... it is horrible to see this man who so recently was still strong, energetic, young — to see him like that... almost a corpse. Good Georges takes advantage of the occasion to get drunk, and rages because nothing more can be done to the will. How horrible!
I received a letter from Hall; the Boyds and Marcuard sent to ask after him. Marcuard came himself afterwards. He is very civil.
Robert-Fleury came this evening; I was working on a life-size arm. He only corrected, without saying whether it was good or bad.
I continue drawing bones. I spend more time than ever with Breslau, Schaeppi, and so forth — the Swiss contingent, in short.
I have no time to write anything, and there is nothing interesting.
I should like all the same to know whether Alexandre fought his duel.
Cassagnac is a real swine. If I were a great lady, he would be more visible. He is forever hanging about the Faubourg Saint-Germain now, which is causing serious discontent in his party, which says he should be doing his politicking among concierges and coachmen instead of kissing the hands — and other things — of duchesses.
I have no luck... otherwise, some man of wit would already have set the fashion of coming to our house, to me, and of organising a proper circle of intrigue there. Besides, Cassagnac rides the wave but does not make it.

Notes

The Faubourg Saint-Germain: the aristocratic quarter of Paris, stronghold of the old Legitimist nobility. ↩