Thursday, 9 October 1884

You see. I do nothing. I have a fever all the time. My doctors are two pretty imbeciles. I have called in Potain and placed myself in his hands again. He cured me once. He is good, attentive, honest. In short it appears that my thinness and the rest do not come from the chest — it is something incidental that I have contracted and of which I said nothing, always hoping it would pass of itself, and concerning myself only with my lungs, which are no more diseased than before.
I need not bore you with my illnesses. The thing is that I can do nothing!!
Nothing!
Yesterday I began to dress to go to the Bois and nearly gave it up twice — without strength. But I got there all the same… Mme Bastien-Lepage has been at Damvillers since Monday for the harvest, and although there are ladies around him Jules is glad to see us; Mme Weil gives me her folding stool, and there I am facing him, our feet on the same hot-water bottle, under the same blanket. We must have looked a comic pair. Poor dear. Mme Mac-Kay is in Paris. We bring him home.
Emile is a truly sublime brother. If you knew what care, what self-denial, what tenderness — and all with calmness and simplicity; he does not lose his head.
[Two pages torn out]
………the shoulder numb, the elbow aching… What more would one do if it were for love?…
At one moment I pressed my cheek against his hand, and he squeezed my hand more tightly.
Why do we love him? My people love him because they think I do.
Why? In the beginning it was: "an emperor one saluted from afar with resentment, who has broken both his legs and whom one may now go to rescue."
And now? He has grown attached to us.