Wednesday, 5 January 1881

Tony arrives at the atelier at the same time as I do this morning. I show him a little sketch and we talk about the picture. The room where I shall work is tiny, and even with the partition knocked down it will be no joke, given the size of the canvas. Well... And this way Julian has of making me pay for the building work, when the picture is for him?
And then this idea of having it done by two people, which creates a kind of competition, which is very trying. For all my bold airs I am very timid, and when Amélie is there I am half paralysed in everything and no longer know how to pose a figure or... it is very awkward. And then it annoys me that there are two of us on the same subject.
Since people have said I am infatuated with Tony, I looked at him this morning... I do not believe that this fellow could inspire anything of the kind in me, and yet I grew just a little bit excited after talking with him... He looks intelligent, but he is scented with verbena or some mixture or other of eau de Cologne and something else; it is very unpleasant.
In any case it would be idiotic — this gentleman who is always ill and always nursing himself... But there is no question of it.
It is the picture. Ah! This picture bores me. Ah! I should like to do something else!
Ah! These ups and downs are unbearable. With one word I am lifted up or flung to the ground, and to keep me from despair Julian and Tony must spend their lives firing my enthusiasm; when they merely give advice without saying whether it is good or bad, I am crushed.