Saturday, 22 November 1879

I have brought a vexation on myself. When it is not other people, it is me. This portrait. I was foolish enough to mention it to Tony. Now I shall have the pleasure of enduring all the teasing of my family, who are beginning, or will begin, to say that Tony is a beggar, a ragamuffin, a creature who without me would not have enough to eat. Ah! he is only too glad to be stealing money over this portrait. It is four thousand francs, but I tell them I suppose it is six or eight thousand. That way the four thousand francs will seem less dreadful to them. I begrudge the money myself, but what would you have! If I had not mentioned this stupid portrait, everything would be going so well. This man is so kind. I went to take him my copy: “It is not yet broad enough, not yet firm enough.” Next week I shall do two more: two heads after Rubens copied by Robert-Fleury the father — a great artist, that one. And then a little scrap of canvas by the same, but an original. As I greatly admire the sketch he made for his ceiling at the Luxembourg (he, Tony), he offers it to me in the most gracious manner, saying it gives him great pleasure to give it to someone who really understands, who appreciates...
— But, Monsieur, there can surely be no lack of people who appreciate your painting... (not I, at any rate).
— Oh no, it is not the same thing, it is not the same thing, it is not the same thing.
I am already growing bolder and am hardly afraid of him any more. After seeing him once or twice a week for two years at the atelier, it seems very odd to be chatting with him and to have him help me on with my pelisse. A little more and we shall be a pair of friends. But for this portrait I should be very content, for my master is as good to me as can be.
I come home and find a whole club at our house — all Mme Gavini’s set and ours, and Bichinsky, who has come to introduce a Count Wodzinsky, a handsome Pole, much sought after. I am in high spirits. There were Chaudordy, Multedo, Gavini, etc... but some were missing because of the weather, which is frightful. Ah! a new friend: a naval captain, Lahirle, a man who, they say, can talk all the time without ever being tedious.
In the evening Mme de Bailleul, who has come back.