This evening “Alice de Nevers,” a comic opera by Herve, was given for the first time.  Our box had been engaged a long while, first proscenium at the right.  I was dressed with more care than usual; hair arranged in Marie Antoinette style, without the powder.  The whole was drawn up, even the fringe in front.  I left only a few little locks at each side.  My beautiful white forehead, thus bared, gave me a royal air, and at the back I let two curls hang, waved just at the end.

Gown of dove-grey taffeta and a white fichu.  In short, Marie Antoinette in miniature.  I felt well satisfied, and gazed at the base multitude from the height of my grandeur.  Lighting a giorno.  I was looked at quite enough.

He could not help staring at me like the rest.  Everybody came to our box.

At every intermission I went to the back, so that I would not have to turn my head at each visit.  Just as the curtain was rising the Prefect’s son and A——­ entered our box.  I received them with perfect ease; he has a foreign air.

“What, Mademoiselle, are you really going away?”

“Oh, yes, Monsieur.”

“No, no,” he said, as if he had been pricked by a pin, “Mademoiselle shall not go.”

I did not deign to answer.  I was courteous, agreeable, but cold.  He turned and asked me if I always gave trouble.

“Yes, always.”

* * * * *

We are going to the S——­’s.  I do not see M——.  She is shut up at home.  This is what has happened—­during the two months since the C——­ family arrived from Mexico, he has no longer written to her.

I know that people who say what I have just said are not popular.  We prefer those who, like Dina, veil what they know by a false sentiment of sham delicacy and misplaced pity.

Listen carefully to these commonplace, but true words.  C——­ deserts you.  Write him a letter full of pride and withdraw with honour.

I am very sorry for M——.  C——­will leave Europe in three days.

Poor M——.  This is what it means to love with the heart.  I understood at once when she told me that C——­ had not written to her for so long.  On account of anonymous letters he received; because he thought that he no longer loved her.  I instantly comprehended his object.  I am frantic for her, when I think what a satisfied face the booby will take with him to Mexico!  And that poor girl has been crying ever since this morning.  I am pleased.  I foresaw everything, we must hold ourselves proudly, especially when the man wants to draw back.  He invents excuses, and the poor woman believes she is deserving of reproach, and this, that, and the other thing, while in reality she has no cause for blaming herself.  I always try to protect myself against every affront.

“Yes,” said Mamma, “I was told that you received him yesterday from the summit of your grandeur.”

“Not only yesterday,” my aunt interrupted, “but for a long time past.”