Wednesday, 6 March 1878

I began painting the nose; my model left, and then — oh, go hang! It's impossible like that.
[Two lines crossed out: I have just lost my temper with myself!]
Imagine — I open the door into the dining room and have just time to see that... Georges slip away, hiding himself in grandfather's room at the sight of the opening door. And I... I am an idiot!
He looked so pitiable and so wretched that I nearly wept.
I am angry with myself.
And in the evening Madame my mother sends me into a fury by maintaining that Georges does nothing wrong, and that all of this is merely a need for scenes and horrors that is within me.
God forgive the senseless creature.