Saturday, 9 February 1884

The painting, still.
Moraes, the Comtesse Ducos, and her son to dinner... The son is a true dullard and does something or other at the ministry — says nothing, sits glum as a man condemned to the gallows, and on his mother’s order sings us comic songs. Then sits down again in the same idiotic attitude.
Our applause encourages him to the point that he rallies three times and sings.
Oh, my word! How bored I was.