Saturday, 15 May 1880

Only a few people: Engelhardt, Iturbe (the man with the twenty-seven million and the grimace), Lahovari, Saint-Amand, Mme de Bailleul. Soutzo arrives for dinner and accompanies us to the circus with Saint-Amand. I am pretty; Soutzo beside me, hardly speaking, his head in the clouds.
Before the circus I lectured him on the indignity it would be for a Soutzo to accept service in Romania under a foreign prince like the one who reigns there.
Then he is indignant. What! Is it not I who, with my continual mockery, keep pushing him to accept a post as secretary or attaché of legation? Is it not I who told him he was wrong to refuse it two months ago?
“I was mocking you then; I said it ironically. If you cannot tell, so much the worse.” “One never knows whether you are sincere or joking!” “How very fitting for a Soutzo to be attaché to the Romanian legation! Ah! Fie! I shall not receive you any more.”
This was in front of Mme de Bailleul. I thought I had offended him, and finding myself alone with him for a moment, I asked him, like a good little girl. “But no! Not at all!” I could not withdraw my hand. “So I must not accept, then — tell me?”
“No.”
“Very well, I shall not accept” — and he kissed my hand.
Coming out of the circus, the Gavinis and Abattucci... Saint-Amand and Soutzo accompany us home. I gave my arm to Saint-Amand, who recited verse to me.
I continue my little story of the gentleman with 130,000 francs in income, and my aunt believes it. Soutzo calls him “the dirty fellow.”
“Is it decided?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“It would pain me a little...”
“When it is ‘a little,’ one dares not say it.”
“Well then — a great deal of pain.”
“What does your pain matter to me?”
I spoke out against the legation simply because I should not like this good fellow to leave.