Monday, 18 November 1878

Robert-Fleury was at the atelier; afterward I called on Mouzay to have her read the article and to chat with her daughter, which always gives me pleasure.
The old woman told me a few hard truths. I know myself that I have been making a fool of myself, that such things are only acceptable once or twice, that I shall never have a proper salon if I continue, and that — in the end — with this same Cassagnac I have committed nothing but follies, compromising for me, harmful, stupid, and that he dropped me when he had had enough.
How can it be! There was everything — and now there is nothing. Nothing interests me; nothing is worth pausing for. That man was everything; without him there is nothing.
One cannot say "his wife," or "Mlle Acard"... one will simply say Acard. Emptiness and desolation.