Monday, 3 January 1881

I finished Les Deux Frères yesterday at half past midnight. It is nice, but nothing of it stays with me. O Balzac!
That Jew Julian will not have the partition opened before Sunday; during the week it would disturb the pupils. That way I lose a week, so I have only ten weeks left in all, which is not much. And again I think that Tony and Julian are making me begin it knowing that I shall not manage it. But to what end? Nesdo.
Wodzinski, still much moved by my romance, dines with us and tells me among other things that people say I am in love with my painting master. I am surprised they did not say it long ago. For I am said to renounce every pleasure, and that is not natural, any more than this ardour for work. I am also said to refuse every marriage that offers itself; that is somewhat true, but the vulgar minds of those people do not understand my reasoning. They suppose that I am renouncing marriage, not realising that those I have let slip away I can always get back, or others like them.

Notes

Les Deux Frères: “The Two Brothers”, George Sand’s sequel to Flamarande. ↩