Since knowing him, since he has paid me attention, my
studies have suffered greatly, especially since it has seemed to me,
and I am almost sure of it, that he is not madly in love with me, I
have not been able to read a book or practise an hour on the piano.
Paris, November 18th, 1875.
Tired enough, finery will use me up, me and my money. But that is
why I came to Paris, and we must do things conscientiously. I need
not say that I am not having anything made in colours, everything is
white.
I feel sad, unnerved, I should like to smile and to weep. No,
really, love is full of interest.
I was in good spirits this evening, I talked with my aunt, and
complained of M---- A----. She answered that M---- A---- was a girl
of the street, a worthless creature. I declared that she deserved
every punishment for having, without knowing me, from mere gossip,
formed a bad opinion of me and basely slandered me. Seizing a sheet
of paper, I wrote:
"Contemptible old creature, your daughter no longer loves G----,
she loves a door-keeper in the Theatre Italien, who is a very
handsome fellow."
I sent this to D----, who is going to mail it as if it came from
Nice.
I wanted to howl this morning, but it would be too much like the
dogs--I sigh and I laugh, which is amusing.
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