Sunday, 17 March 1878

I was too well-dressed and too charming for it to have turned out otherwise. Nobody came, save Berthe, who dined with us. As for me, scarcely eight o'clock I wrapped myself in a dressing gown and slept, or nearly so, while Berthe chattered on.
I shall never forgive him for the mask affair at Paul de Cassagnac's. Never in my life.