Thursday, 1 November 1883

I am going to work at the Grande Jatte¹ — an avenue of trees in golden tones, a medium-sized canvas.¹

Bojidar came with me, fortunately, for I had not thought that it was a holiday, and when we arrived there we found crowds of boaters — and Rosalie alone might perhaps have been insufficient as a chaperone. In any case, in order to allow myself to come and go and paint on this distinguished island, I dress like an old German woman: two or three wool cardigans to disguise my figure, an overcoat bought for twenty-seven francs, and on my head a large knitted black shawl. Slippers on my feet.