Monday, 25 March 1878

The competition is on. A woman who looks somewhat like Croizette.
I have a fairly good place and I believe I am in form. Besides, I mean not to tire myself out by staying up late.
Robert-Fleury came this evening; he is decidedly very pleased with me. He questioned me about anatomy, and naturally I answered without hesitation.
But what is charming is that Madame my mother is outraged and says any number of insulting things to me because I do not find it perfectly natural for Georges to remain in the dining room. It is the height of stupidity.
In a fortnight everything must be forgotten, until the next scenes, the next horrors, the next shames.
“It is disagreeable to me,” she says, “that when he is ill — and one must truly be a madwoman, a peasant, a monster to persecute a man who does nothing.”
Cassagnac sends me tickets with the following note, pinned to the page. There is a chill in the air — not his words, but mine.
[Monday, 25 March 1878] Here, dear Mademoiselle, are the tickets you asked me for
— they are for tomorrow’s session, Tuesday.
Your most respectful and devoted,
Paul de Cassagnac
I am entirely resolved to leave him in peace, which calms all my anxieties. I shall go and console myself at the atelier if consolation is needed; in any case I go there to occupy a turbulent mind that would make trouble if it were not absorbed. The atelier for me is an answer to all my anxieties, my impatiences, my demands, my griefs.
I will tell you one thing more... since my own note was serious, it is natural that his should be in the same tone.
It is odious to be as I am, but I thank God for being sensible and for not being in love with anyone. If I were, I should kill myself with rage.