Monday, 16 October 1882

They have not come — it was to be expected; Michka did not go there for nothing and has already begun, no doubt, one of those admirable intrigues for which the provincials of every country have a genius. It is perhaps not even through malice but through love of gossip; besides, Michka is the most envious and spiteful creature in the world, and I had not sufficiently reckoned with him in this affair, which I consider lost from now. They wrote to Papa that it is a conference with the head steward that detains them — while we know that preparations are being made at Michka's to receive them... So Michka has drawn them to his house in order to prevent their coming here. This hateful, provincial being — and consequently possessed of the genius for intrigue and the coarse petty gossip of the provinces — is in the process of arranging things so that they may perhaps never come here at all.
I dreamed of Cassagnac — we were somewhere, I know not where, with a great many people, and he divined that I loved him and looked at me, and I felt no shame at this flirtation with a married man...
There, in the dream, I admitted that love takes account of nothing, and I thought that this should excuse my tacit consent in his eyes.
Our hands met — and that was all. I think the happiness I felt in it could not survive the dream, and that whatever man I had dreamed of it would be the same. I should like to dream it again.