Tuesday, 3 June 1879

A major session at Versailles.
Arriving just as the train was departing, we take whatever carriage is available, without our friends. Arriving at Versailles, I find myself face to face with Cassagnac, to whom I swiftly turn my back. It is the first time he has come on this train. In any case, here is my account — I shall not keep you the one from Le Figaro, for it is pale; no doubt Le Figaro wished to soften Cassagnac's escapades. A serious man does not conduct himself thus — but then, he did drive Gambetta to fury.
I do not know what judgment to pass on this uproar — the uproar itself had its reason, but certain words dictated by the anger of the moment are without consequence and strip the uproar of its own dignity. Le Pays says nothing of the speech by Modier de Montjan. That noble old man began very well, but the enthusiastic applause carried him away and he ended in a sort of rambling. Despite this it was a triumph — all the left factions applauded thunderously, and the good fellow nearly fainted as he came down from the rostrum, so that he had to be carried out of the chamber. All in all, quite an entertaining session "as one vulgarly says" — only a rather detestable journey home.
Gavini, Galloni d'Istria (senator), de Bouville (great brute), Hamille, Haussmann, another, and us. [Words blacked out: I believe I was] quite pretty, for Madame Arnaud de l'Ariège, whom Gavini pointed out to me and who is an adorable woman, looked at me often and at length with a smile so benevolent and gracious that she recalled to me my mother of Florence — though that poor woman had her reasons, whereas Madame Arnaud has none. [Word blacked out: Besides] she has constantly that adorable air of a queen or a good fairy — aged, but ravishing. They say she is forty-eight or forty-nine; she looks it, especially because of her white hair and her [word blacked out: particular] elegance of a very elderly woman, which consists of draped, flowing woollen fabrics, a hat coming well down over the forehead and casting into shadow a pair of dark, lively, youthful eyes beneath black brows. The eye socket is not large. The nose is very fine though massive, with very decided planes. The distance from nose to mouth is very short, while the chin is straight and long. The mouth is of medium size, pretty and amiable. A matte complexion. An admirable figure; movements graceful and gentle insofar as that is possible in such a woman. A veil fell from her hat, which she arranged like a mantilla around her neck. She has a double chin — not fat, but age. A black woollen dress since she is still in mourning for her husband, and collar and cuffs in white linen like a man's — which indeed went rather badly with the black gloves that left the skin visible between sleeve and glove.
In short, everything I had been told of her is true, and I end by saying what I should have begun with: Madame Arnaud is beautiful, simple, and majestic. Her son made it his business to seat the ladies, and we saw him several times in our box escorting women to their places. This charming son is not as charming as I had expected.
He has something of a... jaded air, and he lacks backbone. He cannot have much wit. The brow is low and the head flat.
It is a pity, for if what he has from the [word blacked out: neck] up to the brows were crowned by a fine forehead, he would be a truly beautiful face.
But there is a young blond man whom we see at the Opéra with de Daillens and whom for two years we have greeted by the name of the shirt-maker — which even rather irritates him — well, this young man has an absolutely jaded look, and while there is no resemblance whatever between the jaded young man and Monsieur Arnaud, I do not know why I detect a trace of that air in Arnaud's face; a nothing, almost nothing — but in the end it makes me think of him.
That is absurd, for the other is ignoble while Arnaud is handsome. All the same, that forehead does not tempt me; besides, he likes horses and racing. I fear he may be stupid and vain.
Cassagnac deigned to ogle me for a moment — my aunt says "the entire time," which means once or twice. He came back on the same train as us, but we carefully avoided him; the very same waiting room where we waited, he and I and Paul, for the senators' train, a year and a half ago. Old beast of a Cassagnac, to have gone and got married.
I gave a ticket to a pupil from the Studio.
At home we find Jeanne and the Mouzays, and the evening passes.