Friday, 27 June 1884

Just as we are about to leave for a drive in the Bois, the architect comes up to the carriage. They arrived this morning, and he comes to tell us that Jules is a little better, that he made the crossing well, but that unfortunately he cannot go out. That Jules would have so enjoyed telling me himself what a success my painting had been with everyone he showed it to in Algeria, etc.
— Then we shall go to see him tomorrow! says Maman.
— You could not give him greater pleasure — he said that your painting... but no, he will tell you himself; it will be better so.
The Engelhardts, the Orthodox priest, the Bogdanoffs, the Staritskys — we take tea until eleven o’clock.