Saturday, 12 June 1880

I am better. I finished the sketch of Mme Gaupillat. Turquan, Moraes, Mme Gavini, Mme Engelhardt, de Villevieille... Collignon stays for dinner, Soutzo too.
He returns from the Cassagnac session and brings back reflections that exalt me. It is true — I have never loved and will never love anyone but that man.
Needing to numb my rage, I laugh and talk very loudly, mixing Aristotle and the amnesty... In short, I am mad — and mad because my equal is lost forever.
Soutzo accompanies my aunt to the circus, which does not amuse him. I told him again that he has coarse feelings, that I was ill, and that he did not even come to inquire in the evening...
"I should not tell you, for you do not understand that. I tell you, and you take it for a reproach. You are shortsighted; you will always be so, even if they reproached you for it for thirty years. The same for your moral sense — useless to speak to you of it."
Left alone with Collignon, we talk of my future. She says Soutzo is stupid and mean, and that if I married him she would weep all her tears. That he is not delicate, that he will always be underfoot at his wife's, having neither occupation nor career. "A saddled donkey!" she says.
All this is true, but I reassure her about the marriage, which will never happen.
Only here is the thing: I am alone with my aunt and bored to death. This fellow brings here a kind of reflection of life, of gaiety, and of love... I foresee, I know, that I am creating a mortal enemy for myself, but to dismiss him...
You can easily imagine what I could say to Soutzo with my head and heart full of the other, of whom I am mad and who is lost forever. Well, what can one do with one's heart under such conditions? One must marry a rich man.