Thursday, 27 March 1879

Comte Valéry — senator and director of some shipping company or other — has died suddenly in Florence. Gavini, who is a relative of his, went there yesterday. I learn this on entering Madame Gavini's, where she receives condolences from several friends with red eyes. "Tomorrow all this will be over," she tells me, kissing me and escorting me to the antechamber; "I shall go out... and it will be over." Anything else would have surprised me.
We go to Versailles only at two-thirty, on a slow omnibus train that takes an hour. Without Gavini it is no longer so pleasant — and besides the session is very dull. My family makes my life difficult. My aunt never stops watching young Arnaud. I suppose all families are the same — but never mind: the poor woman has already concocted a romance, and that may well be what prevents it; I am superstitious.
On the return we have only little Sarlande — the other friends have not been to the Chamber at all.
After the studio, Mademoiselle Oelsnitz accompanied me as far as the theater where my aunt was with the Basilewskys.