Sunday, 6 August 1882

A telegram informs me that the enchanted princes are not in the country, so Maman and Dina depart alone. Tony comes to dinner and we then go to see Le Bossu at the Porte Saint Martin, so as not to dwell on the tedium of the departure. It is like the coffee one swallows with medicine.
It seems Amélie began by adoring Tony, and that her about-face caused a kind of pique in this idiot. For Irma is right, he is stupid. No, do you know that he went to complain to Julian that Amélie no longer greeted him? "I won't endure it a second time," he told Julian.
Oh, Julian must have had a good laugh — he who is not stupid at all, nor an old maid, nor calm, nor a crank.
Well, we listen to our drama, which is quite entertaining. If I were a man I should have been a thorough-going roisterer, for men are not obliged to resist the... follies that pass through one's head...
Who can say?... It is neither a person nor a feeling, but a disposition arising from a heap of small moral and physical causes... And then it is so fleeting. One never speaks of it, no one admits it, for it lasts so briefly that by the time one writes it down it has long since passed. Are there truly such marble creatures as have never, never been crossed by some... vulgar longing? I think not, for I am going to tell you dreadful things — but there are moments when any... any... tolerably presentable man in a black coat standing behind one at a show or across from one in a drawing room can make thoughts pass through one's mind that one might call improper.
And then, you see, one must place oneself very high up and attribute, invent... Not admit for a single instant that one's... imaginary improprieties could have the slightest connection with those of others... And indeed they are different... Since... It is only wicked when it actually happens... But when it merely passes through one's head — and passes is precisely the word. And besides, what of it? That a man should kiss one? Yes and no, I don't know — and in any case, if at the moment I am proudly crediting myself with the instincts of a woman of easy virtue some tolerably presentable man were to take the liberty of kissing me, I should most likely scratch his eyes out, for in order for it to be real it must be true love!