Monday, 19 December 1881

Villevieille, always elegant and correct, dines with us; she plays the piano like an angel — the instrument one detests becomes a delight beneath her fingers. Poor girl, she will never marry; she must be a good forty years old; but painted and polished, with a magnificent figure, still pretty... I wonder what can have prevented her from
marrying — pretty, a good name, good connections, full of talents, intelligent.

I have Irma and am trying to make a pen drawing.