Thursday, 10 January 1878

Paul being to leave this evening, I did not go to the atelier in the afternoon — and in any case, thanks to Breslau, the week is lost even though she had returned my place to me.
I wept. Paul came to bid farewell to Grand-papa, and the old man began to cry and wail like a child — unable to speak, he held Paul by the hand, cried out, and looked at Maman with eyes so imploring, so wretched, so despairing, that Paul could no longer restrain his tears, nor I, nor Maman; and Grand-papa was not calmed until he had been given a solemn word of honour that Paul would not leave that evening.
Here is what that miserable Bonapartist writes me:
Wednesday [9 January 1878]
I receive your letter at midnight, on returning home. How the devil do you suppose I can procure tickets for tomorrow Thursday's session?
Besides, there will be no session tomorrow Thursday. The whole time will be spent voting to appoint the bureau.
And it will be no great show. When you wish to go to the Chamber, be so good as to give me two days' notice. Without that, it is impossible for me to obtain tickets.
Until soon, my dear little friend, and a respectful kiss upon your tattooed hands.
Paul de Cassagnac
And here is my reply:
Very well then — I am giving you two days' notice: it will be Saturday, or Sunday at the latest, since it is as much to admire you as to allow my brother, who leaves Sunday evening, to go to Versailles with me.
If you feel yourself worthy, you may come on Saturday with or without the sleepwalker. There will be two pretty persons.
Au revoir, and may the Devil have you in his worthy keeping.
Your affectionate
Marie Bashkirtseff
Madame Yorke and Berthe took tea with us and we arranged an outing...
Ibid, p. 126