Saturday, 27 March 1880

We took communion, all three of us: Maman, Dina, and I. Afterward, I have breakfast; Mouzay is going to pester some gentleman or other who apparently has influence in how paintings are placed.
Few people, Holy Saturday. Mmes Gavini, Richaud, Poitrineau, Saint-Amand, Chaudordy, Rouzat, etc.
Spring makes me adore dress.
I have ideas for gowns, hats, flowers, gauzes; everything is fresh, elegant, graceful. But... for whom? Five or six hats, every day a different one at the Bois, but my future husband is not in Paris. The newspapers have him traveling in Belgium while they send Gambetta to Ville d'Avray. I call Joseph my future husband, laughing; it is he who seems designated, and clearly, by Mme Jacob. The Bois disgusts me when there is not a man I expect to meet there. That fool Joseph Arnaud has no idea of the... fidelity... future fidelity of his future wife, who would want to dress only for him. No, but it is true; I have that in my character... a need for bourgeois devotion -- no, not bourgeois... Always the influence of cliches.
That ideal devotion, that fidelity, can only be produced by feelings of an absolutely exceptional order and extraordinary elevation -- and they call it bourgeois!
Soutzo arrived at nine in the evening. I do not know if this fellow loves me... he is comical with his grave, tedious air... He stays two hours beside me; sometimes I write or read and speak only rarely; he says nothing and stays there staring into space... At eleven o'clock, a violent ringing: Mme Gavini, Chaudordy, and Gavini returning from the Hippodrome.
We take tea until midnight. And I am brought to recount all this here because I felt the need to come write that my future husband is absent, and my flower-trimmed hats give me no pleasure without him...