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...
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...