Saturday, 18 October 1879

My head is better than the last ones I have painted. It lets me breathe a little.
My aunt has made a will in my favour. The fortune-teller’s prediction the other day, and then some impossible dreams, made me think of what would happen if she died intestate. MM. Georges and Alexandre etc. etc. would inherit. That would be the last straw... After the card-reader I went to Maman’s, where the whole family was, and told them, half serious, half laughing, that I had been told I would lose many people: “One of you has only to die, just think! To see those monsters inherit! Not Maman so much, since after her come her children, Paul and I — but my aunt.”
Again these insipid Saturdays! The Goldsmids, Berthe, the Tchoumakoffs, M. de Tarente! That one is an imbecile.
Rosalie broke my mirror and I dreamed of pearls...