Friday, 24 March 1882

The picture will not be exhibited.
I am staying a few more days here for a variety of small reasons — first the desire to redo a plein-air study, then Sarah gives two performances on the 4th, and that is all. We went to fetch Barnola at his house, and after lunch everyone goes to Nice: Maman, my aunt, Papa, Bojidar, Dina, Savine, Barnola, the Princess, Mme Hélène.
The Pomar joke is over — they say he is to marry the young Troubetzkoy, daughter of the ineffable Lise. They have been working on it for three months. It is raining, I am coughing, very sad to have nothing in the Salon.
Today is the day I should have been in Paris; by now Julian would already have seen the picture.
I do not have the patience to describe in detail how much my family's mania for talking about people they do not know irritates me. It has the effect of kitchen gossip about counts and princesses.