Sunday 2 / Monday, 3 March 1879

I left yesterday at noon. The weather was superb and I nearly shed real tears leaving this delightful and incomparable place. From my window I saw the garden, the Promenade des Anglais, the Parisian elegance. From the corridor I saw the rue de France with its old Italian hovels and its alleyways with such picturesque light and shadow.
And all these people who know me — "It is Mademoiselle Marie," they say when I pass. The neighbor across the way brought me my goddaughter Alexandrine; the child is eighteen months old. The date explains the name? That rogue Alexandre left me not two sous' worth of poetry. As much as the people of Nice have made me suffer, I adore its houses and streets. It is my country after all. But I am condemned to leave everywhere. I would now like to leave Paris — my mind is wandering and I feel lost. I expect nothing more; I hope for nothing more. I am a resigned desperate. I think, I think, I search, and finding nothing I heave one of those sighs that leaves me more oppressed than before... Come now — what would you have done in my place?
Not the slightest glimmer! And then... it is ugly and disagreeable to say, but the youth during which a young woman dances and amuses herself is past for me. I am twenty. From eighteen to twenty — two years. And what is horrible is that every evening I return to this book and every evening nothing has changed, except that there is one more day. And so to hold back tears I breathe like the actresses who simulate deep emotion — and then it is absurd and heartbreaking.
Now that I am in this pitiless Paris, it seems to me I did not look enough at the sea — I would like to see it again.
You know, that poor Bagatelle who was crushed at Spa and recovered so miraculously — I brought her back with me. It would be merciless to leave her there all alone.
You cannot imagine the goodness, the faithfulness, and the attachment of that animal. She never leaves me; she always places herself under my chair and hides with such a humble and imploring expression when my aunt comes to protect the carpets.
How I hate those who have made me this life!!