Monday, 11 February 1878

Blanc is playing piquet, and from here I send him foolish things — the remnants of yesterday.
I regret that Cassagnac does not occupy himself with me more. It seems to me that I occupy myself with him so much because this detestable family keeps talking about it... and it displeases me so.
The conversation turned to my feet.
— Oh! said Blanc, once Paul has declared himself on the matter —
— He said so?
— Yes. And when the feet are pretty, he draws up the ladder. Besides, Paul is an idiot — he has not been talking to a woman for ten minutes before he asks to see her feet.
— Blanc! You are severe.