Wednesday, 7 May 1879

If only this fury of work could last, I would declare myself entirely happy. I adore drawing and painting and composition and sketching, pencil and red chalk — I have not the slightest inclination for rest or idleness. I am content! A month of days like these represents the progress of six ordinary months.
It is so delightful and so wonderful that I fear it will end. In moments like these I have faith in myself...
[Words blacked out: We were emerging] from the rue de Rivoli onto the place de la Concorde, and Cassagnac was walking alongside the Tuileries on foot. He saw me quite clearly. I remained impassive, only I stopped humming "they say you're getting married," which is always on my lips. I did not look at him, so that my eyes merely slid over him as over everything else along the way, and in a moment the carriage "hid me from his gaze." I was careful not to lean forward to prolong our sight of each other — I very nearly drew back instead. He looked heavy and walked slowly, my ideal. I would like to see him vexed, ugly, corrupted, detestable. But if he is charming and famous, etc., I would console myself by adoring him.
So, as you see, whatever may happen I shall be content. I think I even prefer to find him charming — it amuses me to admire someone... especially in so cursory a fashion; my work does not suffer in the least. It was a pleasure to see him. He has a face worth looking at, a good big devil of a face...