I have written a lot of nonsense this evening; my ideas are very much confused, and the novel especially. And every time I talked seriously, my aunt was alarmed. Whenever I laughed, she laughed too.
Saturday, November 20th, 1875.
For three hours everything in the house has been in a state of revolution, but all the flames were extinguished in a business interview with D——. With pride and confidence I assure myself that I am the wise head of the household. I believe that this time all the difficulties are smoothed, unless the matter is upset when I am no longer here.
Sunday, November 21st, 1875.
I want to return to Nice, the longer I stay here, the longer my departure for Rome is delayed. I spend my time in complaining; my aunt says I am crazy. I laugh, and so does she. Life is full of interest.
Monday, November 22nd, 1875.
We went to my beautifiers, and also to B——'s. To-morrow we shall decide upon the carriages. Then I went to see B——, with whom I always keep up a correspondence. I spent an hour with her; we are not intimate friends, like young girls, we are mere acquaintances.
We received a letter from Mamma, with a clipping from a newspaper in which the opening of the opera at Nice was described, and a number of complimentary things said about us. So people are interested in me, but let us pass on. Mamma has been to the opera again, there was some mistake about the box, and old A—— came to give her a box by the side of his. Everybody came to see her—he was with Dina and O——. Everybody enquired for us except G——.
While reading this letter I committed a thousand extravagances, to the amazement of my aunt. Instantly taking a sheet of paper I wrote, disguising my hand, a letter to A—— D——.
"Sir, here is a recent and true story from which your wonderful talent will be able to make a drama or a striking romance.