Thursday, 11 September 1884

I began on Tuesday a study of a nude child — it could make a subject if it comes out well.
Emile came to dine yesterday; his brother wonders why we have been missing for so long.
So we go to the Bois that evening, but late; he was doing his usual little circuit. I had settled into his usual place — you can imagine from here the surprise of all three of them to find us there.
He holds out both hands to me, and on the way back he comes in our carriage while my aunt goes back with his mother and Emile. It is, besides, a sweet habit.
It is these ladies who morally compelled me to go to the Bois. For my part, I did not wish to. I said so. And for such a foolish reason! Because I am jealous of Mme Mackay. Explain it as you like. I am telling you the thing as it is. I am jealous of Mme Mackay, and I fear he will suddenly speak of her as his future wife. It is absurd. But there it is. You know, one has such strange fancies — if one said everything sincerely, one would be taken for a lunatic.
And yet it has now come to light that she has not seen him for six months. On the other hand.
The main thing is to work.