Sunday, 29 June 1879

We are prevented from going to Madame Gavini's — she came yesterday — by the Gerbel family, who come to show us Count Schulenberg, Mademoiselle Marie's fiancé.
And at dinner we have Madame Pribilsky. She is a sort of madwoman with dyed hair who has a great deal of money and throws it about indiscriminately. Her little girl is at boarding school in Paris, and for the past two months we have had her with us every Sunday, especially during her mother's very frequent absences.
And now we discover that this lady — who reminds one greatly of Madame Sapogenikoff — had known Popaul, and that she had wearied him to the point where he ceased even to be polite in the end. [She did not] say that she had wearied him, but it was perfectly understood. She is mad about him.
— "So nothing came of it?" I asked her.
— "Alas! No."
She has gone into mourning with violets, and her daughter too. I am resuming mourning as well, since the Russian court is observing it for ten days.
I wept again this morning.
One sees portraits of the poor Prince displayed everywhere, and it is dreadfully sad. It has drawn me back to Bonapartism, and I am beginning to venerate Plonplon, whom Cassagnac is now styling: His Imperial Highness Monseigneur le Prince Napoléon. Read today's Le Pays.