Saturday, 1 June 1878

It is not a misfortune for posterity — but it prevents me from making myself understood.
Yorke comes to ask us to go to the ball with her this evening, and to get invitations. If not for this evening then for another — I go to Caroline’s, and in three hours she makes me a dress in which I look as if wrapped in a cloud. The whole thing is a piece of English crêpe that she drapes about me and which makes me slender, elegant, tall. The top of the bodice is defined by the very edge of the crêpe, which clings to the skin. A wide ribbon at the waist fastened by the eternal copper buckle. Over the train is thrown a great bunch of white roses.
The Lacons and the Fosters dined with us.
My head was not very good, but the painted foot had something to it.
I am reading my books on magnetism. After all, what pleases me most this evening is to go to bed and think of something amusing as I fall asleep.
I am jealous of Breslau — she does not draw in the least like a woman. Next week I shall work so hard — you will see... The afternoons will be devoted to the Exhibition and the Salon. But the following week... I want to draw well, and so I shall.
Berthe writes to me.

Notes

In French in the original: crêpe anglais. ↩