Tuesday, 13 August 1878

For two days I have been singing "l'oiseau s'envole," for even the dishwashers have taken to singing. They say someone is getting married.
Dourassoff is an idiot — he tells me bit by bit what passes between him and the princes, to whom I now systematically turn my back and who parade before me as I once paraded before them. I make a show of avoiding them if they get in my way; at table I have already become quite comme il faut and I gently mocked the people who come to Soden putting on airs and who object to walking there without hats and making a little mischief... where else would one do it?
It would be easy enough to sit elsewhere or at a separate table, but this way... It is absurd! I should not have spent all my time mocking them... I amused myself, true... But I might have amused myself differently and a thousand times better.
They speak to Dourassoff about me... who is an idiot — as for them, they are permitted to hesitate, although... Well!