Wednesday, 27 February 1884

I spend the day before and after these ladies' visit sighing and weeping. Another one gone up in smoke.
And Dina, in her groveling before the maréchale, exclaims that it was the maréchale herself who gave me the idea for the painting of the street children.
I confess I was left speechless...
These people will kill me in the end — it is three months now that I have done nothing; this Claire is a punishment from heaven; I think she will come the day after tomorrow and, not knowing how to dismiss her, I shed tears. What would you have me say to make her leave me in peace? I accepted her as a friend; she has free run of the place; the usual pretexts...
In these circumstances one could wish people dead simply to be left in peace...
Ah! wretchedness. I am truly ill from it — a pain in my head like Ruy Blas, and in my back and legs.
This girl is there pottering about, chatting, making Dina laugh.
Oh! to flee, to flee, to flee! But what pleasure can she possibly find in staying three hours, four hours — with me! Mercy! What is to be done!

Notes

Ruy Blas (1838): Victor Hugo's play in which the lackey-hero is tormented by an impossible love for a queen — here Marie uses it simply to evoke confused, throbbing misery.