Thursday, 4 March 1880

Soutzo came to bring me feathers.
This evening, mid-Lent, we go to the Opera ball: de Daillens, Dina and I, in black and heavily masked. But it was not much fun. We did tell Rouzat that he was an old miser and a skinflint; we went up to greet a good gentleman, calling him M. Grévy, Monsieur le Président, and a lady, taking us at our word, set about undeceiving us. But it all lacked go. Joseph was squiring an elegant domino, masked enough for an actress and even for a society woman. The powerful secretary walked slowly, spoke softly, did not leave his lady, and spoke only to men as calm, as “proper” as he. He was playing his role. Besides, it is the republican style; they all look, or want to look, like diplomats and affect a restraint, manners and turns of phrase of refined politeness, just as much as the Bonapartists let themselves go.
Daillens asked him if it was an aunt with money to leave whom he was escorting with such consideration, and the illustrious man deigned to smile; as for the woman, she turned around to see the speaker and said to her: “Oh! She is short!” in a contemptuous tone. I teased a lawyer named Brizard, a friend of Daillens, from behind my mask, without enjoying it.

Notes

In French in the original: comme il faut. ↩