Tuesday, 5 June 1883

Since yesterday morning I have had a model for making sculpture in the round, following Saint-Marceaux's instructions. It is the last day of the Exhibition of Portraits of the Century at the École des Beaux-Arts. We go. A dress of chestnut-coloured foulard silk, a straw hat trimmed with a bouquet of pale pink, pale yellow, and pale mauve dahlias. Then a turn in the Bois. We encounter Clovis Hugues on leaving the École; I shall absolutely paint his portrait. There are such beautiful things in this exhibition. The Bastiens — and then, even before them, the Lawrences. Our paintings are dark beside the old masters. But it is so hot that I cannot speak of art. I was elegant and pretty.