Monday, 23 April 1883

I am furious. Maman has arranged with Princess Jeanne and her husband to go to visit some sculptor or other after luncheon at our house. So I am obliged to talk for four hours on end and abandon my painting.
In any case, whatever happens, I am plunged in a black melancholy from which I emerge only in moments — and then with violent gaiety.
For to my great misfortune are added the eternal petty irritations with Maman over this necessary matter of securing embassy support — she will not understand it and always believes it will sort itself out on its own.
But all of that would be nothing if I were as I was before. I am going to see a doctor again.