Thursday, 27 March 1879

Comte Valéry, senator and director of some steamship company or other, has died suddenly in Florence. Gavini, who is related to him, went there yesterday. I learn of it on calling at Madame Gavini’s; her eyes are red and she is receiving the condolences of several friends. “Tomorrow all this will be over,” she tells me, kissing me and seeing me out as far as the anteroom, “I shall go out... and at last 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 atelier Mademoiselle Oelsnitz took me as far as the theatre, where my aunt was with the Basilewskys.