Monday, 21 March 1881

I am taking my eight days of holiday. First, let it be said that Marie, Etienne’s wife, arrived this morning, having spent a month in Nice where her fickle husband had been hiding from her with la Hamsley.
We go out with Maman — to the Gavinis’, whom I no longer like, as you know. They are rather proud of the impression I made at Patti’s opening; everyone asked who that young woman was. People thought me very fine, pretty, elegant. Invitation for Friday to the Opéra — “but make yourself beautiful, people are noticing you, you must make a sensation.” Then to the Coluccis — good people but tiresome — and to the Juvisys.
I was forgetting Dalmas, who is making me shoes, and Doucet a costume for Wednesday — a masked ball at M. de Dalmas’s: costumed, dressed up, masked. Very elegant and very chic; the Gavinis have told me to be very beautiful (they got the invitation), they will be there.
Saint-Amand came on Saturday, yesterday, and today without finding us. He conveyed his anxieties to Rosalie: “Is she rested? Above all she must go to bed early, so as to be well rested and very pretty on Wednesday. And she must think of an elegant costume — she must be beautiful.”
Doucet is making me a Directoire or Consulate costume in white crêpe de Chine, a peplum drawn tight under the bosom, sandals with classical lacing, garlands — I shall tell you about it.