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 Théâtre 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.
"Good Heavens," I said to my aunt yesterday, "do you suppose I could be in love? What I want is wealth. If my heart beats, it is when I see superb carriages, magnificent horses; if I am agitated, it is with the longing to have all these things.
"No, Madame, even if I loved any one, the luxury here would cure me very quickly. You don't know me, or you pretend not to know me."
I never spoke more truthfully; my aunt believed me, and began to comfort me; to calculate, to try to have money enough to satisfy my wants.
I worship people when they show good will. But the line of railroad that leads me to the Duc de H—— has made a tremendous curve! Yesterday he suddenly presented himself to my mind, so handsome that I am again completely captivated.