Sunday, 3 August 1879

Yesterday we were in a front-facing box — my aunt, Dina, I, and Monsieur Gavini. Very much on display and much observed.
Dina was in black — very striking and pretty. I was in white: a very long dress of Indian muslin, a fichu that revealed the base of the neck and draped in a charming fashion... Sleeves of muslin to the elbow inclusive, tight-fitting. Fingerless gloves that I afterwards remove to pose with hands and arms.
Gambetta in a ground-floor box, Clémenceau to our left, and to our right almost directly opposite us — Arnaud, otherwise known as the citoyen Joseph. Gavini points him out and adds that he must introduce him to me. But he is intercepted by Juliette Lambert (Madame Edmond Adam), who knew him in Nice and calls him to her box — asking him among other things who he is with, and praising this young person she has noticed, who is full of distinction and charm.
Then the Marquis de Molins, then Lenglé, etc. — in short, no Arnaud; they greeted each other only when I was walking in the foyer on Gavini's arm. And I must say the young citizen salutes with grace, and in the presence of a lady he kept his hat raised until we had quite passed.
But I tell you all this with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes. A grief has befallen me. My dog, Coco 2, has disappeared. [It happened while we were going] to the theatre. I was surprised not to see him rushing to meet me on my return, and went to ask the others. Then they told me he was lost. It is all the same to you — but I, who loved this poor creature enormously, who had named him before his birth and who was as attached to him as he was to me. You simply cannot understand! What grief this is for me.
I was always alone working with this dog who never left me... My family, knowing I am hurt, keeps a sullen silence. Maman ran about all evening. On coming home I went down into the street and begged the policemen to bring him back if they find him. All the servants have been told they must find the dog or leave. This is the fourth dog in a year. First Pincio 1, then Coco I, eight days ago Niniche, and yesterday my dog.
[I should like] to learn that he has been killed. At least I should wait for him no more, and search no more. In the manner of his disappearance there is an incredible negligence on the part of the servants — above all Rosalie, who is unforgivable, for she knows how attached I was to the dog.
If I am content, it is only here. I learned the thing without saying anything, telling myself quietly that it is entirely natural. Indeed — all the great or small griefs, troubles, vexations, mishaps are made for me. If they did not exist, they would be made for me. And so I am wholly resigned.
One more, one less. One must close one's eyes, stop one's ears, and wait for it to pass until the next one comes. I am well-trained, I assure you; and I can boast of being impassive — I bestir myself only in conversation! or for laughter. I did not go to bed, and after weeping... at the window I slept on the floor.
It is not that this is particularly touching, but... it is quite natural.
Come then — I expect every dirty trick of fate. There is always a way out of it.