Sunday, 6 July 1884

I sent them two little toys from Neuilly: Saint Anthony and his pig,^{saint-antoine} with dedications — one for Jules and the other for Emile. Rosalie comes back enchanted, happier than if she had been given twenty francs.

He is going out — a turn in the Bois with his mother. This woman takes part in all my preoccupations, and often while dressing me she makes remarks that I was silently making to myself at that very same moment. Emile is in the country, working there on a landscape. The poor boy has everything on his shoulders now. He does not return until after nine in the evening, for there is no other train that way.

Julian has just played another dirty trick on me.

I asked him to come with me and advise me about the wrestlers. He knows perfectly well that I cannot ask this favour of anyone but him, and he knows what it means to be stopped in one's tracks when one has a painting in mind. He kept me waiting all day. Rotten beast. It is impossible for a young woman to go there alone and speak to these people about posing, and so on.

Scoundrel, rogue, coward — a mean, contemptible nature. He knows perfectly well it is the last Sunday.

I had planned to go around Paris — there are wrestlers there, outdoors for certain... Ah! Vile pig! It is enough to make one weep.