Thursday, 11 September 1884

On Tuesday I began 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 stayed away so long.
So we go to the Bois this evening, but late; he was taking his usual little turn, and I settled into his 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 was these ladies who forced me, morally, to go to the Bois. I do not want to go. I said so. And for such a foolish reason! Because I am jealous of Mme Mackay. Explain it as you like. I am simply telling you. 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 mad.
And yet it has now come to light that she has not seen him for six months. On the other hand.