Wednesday, 30 January 1878

Blanc plays piquet with my aunt; I address him as plain Blanc and use tu in imitation of Cassagnac — he is perpetually red in the face, and I laugh like a madwoman.
La Fayet has come again to speak of her prince, who I believe is no more in love with me than with my lady's maid — the madwoman wants to make this match... He has only 25,000 francs a year. And then the very idea... marriage — it must be something dreadful.
Berthe is in love with her escort and wants to marry him. We talked of it at the atelier. Since she is happy in this... let her do it...