Monday, 12 July 1880

This morning I happened to show Julian my reply to Soutzo, and in the evening, returning from the drive with my aunt and Oelsnitz, we find the said Soutzo, who has come from Lille.
As he looks pleased and permits himself again to talk politics and to act like a grown-up, I show myself displeased and deliver a little speech on the necessity of humility when one is mediocre and even stupid. There is nothing to be done with him! He will always be a fellow who thinks well of himself and does nothing good. And then such sentiments, such jokes, so low, so ordinary! I had stretched out on the bearskin rug behind the desk, when he comes and sits opposite, and as I close my eyes, he tickles my nose with a piece of paper.
It is in pitiful taste, it is stupid enough to make one weep, and it is proof even that he does not love me. Besides... such people do not love as we do. We are more delicate than that, and we would regard as a crime any vulgar act toward the Object. But these filthy creatures! Enough. At any rate, I refused to shake his hand and he plays piquet with my aunt.
And then he tells childish tales: one evening when he danced with me at the Lesseps', he stole a handkerchief from me.