Monday, 24 December 1877

Good models on hand, but the Swiss girls are absent, so I telegraph them these rather characteristic words:
Why no longer coming to women’s stable? Many empty stalls. Straw, donkeys, cows. Greengrocer woman (a maman who wants her daughter to draw) changed trade, now sells hay, buyers take note. Expect you this evening to murder corpse.
Princess.
Blanc to dinner.
Wretched Cassagnac... there is something in it, the Hungarian woman and Blanc. Alas! I am almost never wrong.
I cannot even write a letter to Marcuard — the words will not come.