Tuesday, 30 December 1879

Paul was to leave but has not left; we go to the Theatre Francais. I arrange myself as Greuze's broken pitcher, which suits me well despite all these torments of recent days. Gabriel, dining in town, comes very late and only sees us at the exit, surprised that we could have obtained a box on a Tuesday. I say that I always have everything I want; I pose as the happy woman, and since I am quite amiable with this tall fellow with his Republican politeness, I think he will not believe me too mad about the other one. Besides...