Monday, 30 December 1878

I have resumed my work.
Antoine Gavini dined with us — he and Paul are carousing in the Latin Quarter. Young Antoine has just qualified as a barrister; he will now plead without fees until he is of age, and then stand for election. He is a small dark young man of twenty-two, intelligent and well brought up, but he looks like a skinny owl.
We were speaking of the trip to Corsica we were to make two years ago to buy me two small horses; and the young man offers me some from his own estate. That is a nice present, which I accept quite naturally; it comes partly from his aunt, I think.
— Antoine will see you home, she said to me one day; you understand, you must get used to it, since it will happen often. Antoine is like my son, and if I had a son you could perfectly well go out with him, could you not?
She goes and goes; she never stops: condoles with a mourner, congratulates a bridegroom, bows to the right, to the left, quickly comes back — she is a real railway train.