Sunday, 29 December 1878

With that I rested my head on the sofa and fell asleep in the finest fashion until eight o'clock this morning.
We go to the Porte Saint-Martin to see The Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne.
Capoul raises his blue eye toward our box. It is not the first time. I have made his conquest — or else he believes he has made mine.
I am quite detached from Art and cannot cling to anything at all; my books are packed away, I am losing my Latin and my classics, and I feel utterly stupid.
The Paris that is a Paradise for superior natures is nothing for me.