Saturday, 12 June 1880

I am better. I finished the sketch of Mme Gaupillat. Turquan, Moraës, Mme Gavini, Mme Engelhardt, de Villevieille... Collignon stays for dinner, Soutzo too.
He has come from the Cassagnac session and brings back echoes of it that set me aflame. 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 his feelings were coarse, that I had been ill and he had not so much as come in the evening to ask after me...
“I should not tell you, for you do not understand that. I tell you, and you take it for a reproach. You are short-sighted; you will always be so, even if you were reproached for it for thirty years. It is the same with your moral sense — no use talking to you about 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 cry her eyes out. That he has no delicacy, that he will always be hanging about at home with his wife, having neither occupation nor career. “A perfect ass!” she says.
All this is true, but I reassure her about the marriage, which will never happen.
The trouble is, though, that I am alone with my aunt and bored to death, and this fellow brings into the house a kind of glimmer of life, of gaiety and of love... I foresee, I know, that I am making myself a mortal enemy, but to send him away...
You can easily imagine what I could say to Soutzo with my head and heart full of the other, whom I am mad about and who is lost forever. Well, what can one do with one’s heart in such circumstances? One must marry a rich man.