Wednesday, 22 January 1879

I agreed to dine at Mouzay's on condition of leaving at eight and being the only guest besides my aunt.
Not at all! Company!
I am bored, I am posing; my Cassagnac airs make me seem old — there were two young women there, aged nineteen to twenty-two, who said to me: "You, as the eldest, begin."
True enough — my hair was dressed like a married woman's, and I had dark circles under my eyes.
And besides, what does it matter — I am ugly and faded. It is not surprising, after all. I should not have railed so against Mademoiselle Acard. I am lost. I want to die.