Saturday, 22 February 1879

What a difference from Paris! Here I wake of my own accord; the windows are open all night. The room I occupy is the one where we used to take our drawing lessons with Bensa seven years ago. I see the sun gradually lighting the trees near the little basin in the middle of the garden, as I saw it every morning then. My little study has the same wallpaper — the one I chose myself. It is no doubt occupied by some savage Englishman. I recognised it by the paper, for a corridor has been installed that confuses me. The room I am in was once a glass-fronted display room.
The weather is fine!
We eat at the London House and shall do so for the whole of my stay in Nice. One sees everyone there, especially during carnival. Francia, Laurenti, Saëtone!
But I did something foolish. I went to the charity bazaar at the Square Masséna. I should have kept well clear of it all... but it was to see Paul buying a flower from the young Eristoff girl, who is here with Madame Tutcheff and her brother. Paul has been in love with her since she left school. Two years ago she came to Gavronzi, but as soon as it was seen how matters stood, the beauty was sent away. Paul wrote to her, and Constantin Eristoff, intercepting the letter, made his goose of a sister believe that they were not asking for her hand but rather... the opposite. Madame Tutcheff took care of the rest; her lover wrote Paul an insulting letter and avoided meeting him at every turn.
A month ago Paul did everything possible to meet him, but in vain. This time he has seen the sister — an event of a quite different kind but one that throws him into the greatest agitation. Were he a stranger to them, it would be easy enough for him to manage to see the infanta — but in the present state of affairs it is impossible for him to vindicate himself, for she has been made to believe he had the basest intentions, put up to it by us to take revenge on the Tutcheff woman. You can imagine it.
My now only brother stayed with me until morning but we found no solution. Indeed there is nothing to be done as long as we do not know the young woman’s thoughts. Two years can change a woman. From a timid and innocent lamb one may become a very sharp young miss and be smitten with the wretched dandies who condescend — rarely — to grace the salons of Nice with their presence.