Tuesday, 12 March 1878

Would you believe what I am about to say? I shall tell you. It is that I do not wish to see Cassagnac. Because I am afraid of being unable to converse. Do you know that on Sunday there was the beginning of a stupor which fills me with a panic terror! And that Dina had the clumsiness to tell me I looked sad. It is as though someone told a nervous man during an epidemic that he appears to be suffering. I was certainly not in the least sad — but I was not in form. And I have an absurd, superstitious fear of going dull whenever he comes. Look — on Sunday he said fifty things about Suzanne, about the colonelle, and about others — and I picked up on nothing; whereas a month ago we would have made a fireworks display of it. Also — he ought not to repeat himself.
This evening I suddenly invented a charming scheme that will
refresh me — besides, the fear is beginning to pass — but all the same I should prefer not to see the venerable pontiff too soon.
Please do not think that any of this could for a moment make me forget drawing.
And here is the scheme again.
My dear Cigale,
I need to see you — come to the atelier as soon as possible. Your comrade, Marie.
She is a young woman who no longer comes, who is studying and is about to make her debut at the Comédie-Française.
When I think of Pincio — who is truly lost now — my heart tightens. I loved him dearly, and losing him causes me perhaps as much grief as Walitsky's death.
Above all when I think that the animal is in the hands of strangers, that he pines for me — and that I shall never see again his little face and those extraordinary black eyes and black nose...
Well, I am making myself cry now.
Oh! Good heavens — a thousand curses — whatever you like! I truly believe I would rather see Cassagnac and anyone else wounded, ill, gone to the devil, than never see again my dog who loved me so dearly.
I feel genuine grief about it and care nothing for everything else.