Friday, 8 March 1878

Yorke and Berthe arrive, and the former shows me a letter from Cassagnac, who sends his apologies for this evening but asks her to inquire of her friends whether he might, without being indiscreet, ask himself to dinner with them on Saturday or Sunday.
Very well. In the meantime Blanc and these ladies come to dinner, and in the evening we go as arranged to the Folies-dramatiques. Two stage boxes joined together, four women, one of them behind a curtain, and three men — MM. de Lindemann, d’Andigné, and de Morgan de Mauricourt (Faubourg Saint-Germain, and 200,000 francs a year).
The comte de Lindemann was in attendance on me; he brought us quantities of violets and sweets.
I heard nothing of the play, and little of what was said in the box. M. Goldsmid and another came to talk with Mme Yorke... Dina asked d’Andigné whether it was true that at the last ball a masked lady had intrigued him — he had been told of a domino who never left his side. He excused himself by saying it was not for his own benefit but for Monseigneur’s — though the lady had promised, to reward his good offices, to arrange a rendezvous.
At a small theatre and with Mme Yorke, people would certainly have allowed themselves remarks unfit for a church — but I do myself this justice: within ten minutes I had surrounded myself with every imaginable token of respect.
I was in black. Mme Yorke was there for some intrigue from the last Opéra ball; the men laugh at it, and she has no qualms about anything...
On our return I find Blanc again — he has aged considerably.
M. de Morgan, who greatly admires Cassagnac as a politician, asked me whether he was equally impressive in a drawing room. He and Lindemann both appeared interested when Mme Yorke told them we knew the man of the hour. For that is what that wretch has quite become.
I wanted to write him the following — but was advised against it, and sent simply these words:
Dear Monsieur,
Maman asks me to tell you that she will be delighted to have you to dinner on Sunday.