Sunday, 23 June 1878

Monsieur Turquan, the agreeable officer with the Versailles ticket, and Monsieur de Jobal call on us. Then Mme Gavini — we stay on for ices, tea, bonbons, fruit, all served in Russian silver. Then we go for a walk with Mme Gavini in the Bois. She knows absolutely everyone; it is quite staggering.
But tell me — why does Cassagnac, who has sworn friendship so many times, who has never paid court to any of us, behave as though he had betrayed or abandoned someone and were ashamed to encounter them afterward? It is singular, to say the least. And then this wretched business of giving his word of honour that marriage was not even under discussion. All rather amusing, really.
I sent the letter, and I sent a second one as well — here it is. [Letter lost — M. Bashkirtseff, Journal intégral, Lucie Le Roy, l'Age d'Homme; p. 366]
I watch the hours slip past and the evening arrive with genuine dread. I have sent those letters but I cannot quite take it in... each day [brings me closer] to that dreadful Saturday... Mme de la Valette, née Rouher, said she was not greatly mourning this marriage: "I shall find him again two days after." Indeed, a married woman need have no anxiety on that score. One shall have to draft formal announcements proclaiming the death of Monsieur de Cassagnac and a death certificate to accompany them.
I am quite remarkable — to have written him such things and feel no less at ease than if I had invited Mme Yorke to dinner... Ah yes, I spent the evening there. Monsieur and Mme de Heidenstam (a sister of Berthe) were present; Monsieur is a mesmerist, and I had myself mesmerized — though not sent entirely to sleep. Yet I felt something very peculiar, and should have gone quite off if all those other idiots had not kept chattering and forever opening the door to look.
Word comes by telegraph from Russia that the lawsuit will probably be settled any day now; one of the crucial points has already been decided in our favour.
I shall be rich. Imbecile Cassagnac.
[p. 2 bis and following, in Marie's finer handwriting]
If he has not read the letter... if he has read it, he will rage a little in any case. If he loves her, he will be furious with me; if he does not love her, with himself... if it is already too late.
To think that tomorrow is Monday, and in five days...!
The pen is so wretched that I cannot tell you about my "tumultuous feelings." How foolish of me to laugh at everything... I am afraid I shall cry afterward.