Thursday, 19 April 1883

Poor Nervo is dead! The day before yesterday Mme Gavini came to ask for some of our tea — he remembered drinking it at our house, and as he had been unable to swallow anything for the past week, he hoped to drink some of that tea which had seemed so good to him.
Well, it grieves me. We rode together, and he was so agreeable in recent times. And not yet forty-eight! His father, who is eighty-five, is still living.
I do not know how my competition piece is going — for I am drawing caricatures on the studio walls.