Wednesday, 1 December 1880

Leaving the studio, I go to pick up Madame de Daillens and we go to 12 rue Cail, to Mademoiselle Hubertine Auclert's. It is a Wednesday, a favorable day according to Edmond. We had rung in vain three times and, having gone back down, were parlaying with the concierge when a young woman came to the lodge; we had stopped, undecided.
I recognized her instantly.
The concierge calls us back and Mademoiselle Auclert invites us to come up. Women's Rights Headquarters. The words written on the door had already given me, before the young lady's arrival, an access of former enthusiasm, and I pretended to throw my arms around Madame de Daillens' neck.
Very poor and simple and bare, the office. She lights the fire and sits before the fireplace, Madame de Daillens on her right, I on her left.
It is my companion in campaigns who begins... Then I say that I cannot defend myself from a great emotion in the presence of the woman who has so courageously taken in hand the defense of our rights. Madame de Daillens is French, widow of an Englishman, M. Norscott. I am of foreign origin but raised in France, and I am called Pauline Daria Orell. My secret goal is to paint Hubertine's portrait for the Salon. I adopt the pseudonym Daria for painting — very pretty, very simple. It is a Russian baptismal name.
In short, she will be good for painting. Dark-haired, the complexion perhaps a little ruddy, but it is cold and then there are days. Small hands a little red, small feet. A bearing and language very proper.
She is likable and kind, the accent not too distinguished. She gives us a program, a little brochure; we shake hands.
We join, we shall return, we shall pay our dues of twenty-five centimes per month, we shall come to the lectures. By heavens! Until next Wednesday at three o'clock. I was amiable and said that the main argument of the reactionaries — the ugliness, the age, and the grotesqueness of the female lecturers — cannot apply, for: you are young and pretty.
I am pleased — no, not yet, for it can turn out badly; does not everything turn out badly for me?
We shall see.