Monday, 23 February 1880

My habitual existence [Words blacked out: seems all unhinged.] There is nothing new, but I feel something disagreeable coming, I know not what.
The Karageorgevitches have not come for a long time; the princess is stupid and mad, it is true, but I suspect her of being the author of anonymous letters full of insults that Maman receives. Why?
Yes, there it is, why??
Madame Tchoumakoff comes to tell us that Berthe is launching herself greatly, even compromising herself especially in these last days, with Mmes de Bechevey and Chevrion, two quasi-cocottes, and with young men; suppers, parties, etc. Moreover, this charming young woman speaks ill of us; "she does you much harm."
What harm, I do not know. The Russian colony, with which we are not in contact, concerns itself much with us, and naturally things are said at random, stupid, senseless things, as always when one speaks much of what one does not know. Doctor Michel, the one who came to treat Maman during grandfather's illness and the horrors of... the other, told Mme Alexandre Dumas, who is Russian, some of the scenes no doubt that we underwent. Mme Dumas spoke of it before Soutzo, who took our defense, saying it was not true and that Doctor Michel had invented everything. And it is quite simple: people who know us closely will never believe that such horrors are possible. Yet they were. And no doubt things have been further exaggerated, amplified, arranged.
Life weighs heavy.