Friday, 15 February 1878

What ravishing feet he has — but I cannot help laughing when I think of yesterday.
That blue flannel and that red braid.
I shall not go to the Opéra tomorrow. That will redeem yesterday.
I understand his passion for feet, looking at his own. You know he is very tall and rather stout — which makes it all the more remarkable that he should have feet and hands as he does.
My aunt, when we recount to her the staging of yesterday, says of Cassagnac that he is a depraved scoundrel.
I draw as usual, which does not prevent me from being very displeased with myself. I said as much to Robert-Fleury some time ago, and last Saturday as he was correcting our figure studies:
— You are the one who did this?
— Yes, Monsieur.
— You had not drawn from the complete figure before coming here?
— Not at all.
— I believe you are complaining?
— Yes, Monsieur.
— Of progressing too slowly?
— Oh! Yes, Monsieur.
— Well, in your place I should be very satisfied.
It was said with a very benevolent gaiety, and was worth many a compliment.
Yes! But when shall I be able to... paint portraits... In a year... I hope at least.