Tuesday, 26 March 1878

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 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 new scenes, new horrors, new 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. He is cold — not his words, but mine.
[Monday, 25 March 1878] Here, dear Mademoiselle, are the tickets you asked of me
— they are for tomorrow Tuesday's session.
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 am going to say one more thing... and that is that since my note to him 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.
At half past seven I drank half a cup of milk, then worked, and as it was only just time to go to the station when I had finished dressing (after the atelier), I left without lunch with Etienne, his wife and Alexandre.
We did not return until eight o'clock; I had insisted on
staying to see the end of M. d'Egremont's speech, which he read from a million disconnected pages — and the more he read, the more of these pages there appeared to be. I wager no one heard a word.
My impressions are summarised in this note:
Barbarian! May these daily letters cause you a tenth of the fatigue that today's session has caused me! What have I done to you, cruel man, to make you choose such a day to send me tickets?
My little aunt who was with me was so exasperated at watching a deputy for nearly three hours without moving from the tribune that she came close to being seized with a raving fury and getting into an unpleasant altercation in the railway carriage with two old senators.
May these words find you in the middle of the night, disturb your rest, make you dream of the most dreadful things — of today's deputy, for instance — and may you inherit his eloquence!
Yet let me not forget to thank you, for after all you might have sent me nothing at all, which would have vexed me just as much as today's session.
Berthe comes to chat in the evening.