November 28th, 1875.

I am in Nice.  From Paris to Lyon, we were in the midst of snow, but it is strange that I am not so delighted as I was before on reaching my villa.

At Toulon we met C——­ and took her with us.  Mamma and the S——­’s were waiting for us at the station.  The grown-ups took a cab, and we entered our carriage.

We went to the opera.  I wore a white barege costume made a little like a night-gown—­open in front, as if by chance, and confined at the waist by a wide sash like a child’s.  We laughed heartily in spite of the general dulness.

I returned stupid, indifferent.  It is the most detestable condition.  I would rather weep.  I don’t love him.  I hate him with all the strength with which I might have loved him.  Nothing in the world effaces the resentment I have once felt.

Do you remember all that is wounding and terrible expressed in the one word “scorn”?

I understand, I who remember the slap my brother gave me more than twelve years ago, at whose recollection I am still as furious as if I had received it now; I who have kept a sort of hatred of my, brother on account of that childish affront.  It was my only blow, but to make up for it, I have given a goodly number and to everybody.  There was so much wickedness in my eyes that, when I looked in the glass, I was frightened by it.  Everything can be pardoned except scorn.  I would forgive a cruelty, a fit of passion, insults uttered in a moment of anger, even an infidelity, when people return and still love, but scorn—!

Monday, November 29th, 1875.

We went out at three o’clock.  I who came to Nice in search of fine weather encountered Parisian cold.  I wore an otter skin hat, made in the style of a baby hood, and my big sable pelisse covered with white cloth.  The costume created a sensation, and my face did not look ugly, in spite of my fatigue.

I am so happy to be at home in my own house.  I am sleeping in my big dressing room.  My chamber will be ready in a month; I shall find it finished on my return from Rome.  I am thinking only of that, of having my carriage, of spending a month in Nice, of continuing the studies I shall have begun in Rome, of following my professor’s directions, and then of going to Russia.  So many things have suffered, so much money has been lost because we failed to take our journey.  There was a crowd to hear the band play.  General B——­ and V——­ were near us.  A——­ was near the carriage.

“Are you going to stay long in Nice?”

“A week.”

“Are you going away again?”

“Why, yes,” replied my aunt.

“And where?”

“To Rome.”

“Yes, to Rome,” I added.

“But you do nothing but travel.  Mademoiselle, you are a regular whirler.”

“What a ridiculous man!”

We were walking, I, my aunt, and the General, who made me laugh by calling my attention to the different ways in which people looked at me, the men at my face, the women at my gown.