“I lost again at cards last night... I can’t speak French well enough to win. It’s lucky for me that everyone’s leaving here this weekend...off for Paris.”

We talked about Paris and the King’s departure (how desolate he would leave the château!): we talked about the Alps. I mentioned my climbs and the fossils I found...the caves...with shells on the floor... I showed F my memory-sketch of huge male bison painted on the granite walls of a cave, painted there before any Florentine painted. I tried to find a primitive carving on a piece of bone but couldn’t locate it: I wanted him to realize how clever those ancient artists were.

F was interested in the avalanches, and asked me the best season for a climb. He will ask his father to accompany him on an Alpine trip...he’s eager to return to his beautiful Vaprio. I certainly understand. Last month the Melzis renewed their in­vitation but I lack the strength to make another move; perhaps, in a year or two, I might leave here without offending the King—perhaps I can obtain a commission in Milan; then I could use the Villa Vaprio for my base.

In the afternoon, because it was sunny and inviting, we had our horses sad­dled and rode through the bois...a fox plumed his tail in front of us... I tried to sketch on horseback but my sorrel was very restless. What fascinating shadows in the woodland—when the sun is low! How to blend them.

I am confused, cold.

I wrote in my journal a day or two ago, it seems; yet, tonight, I can’t recall the date; I seem to be in an unknown country, not France, not Switzerland. This place is not my place. I am somewhere by a warm fireplace fire. What confusion. The fire stares at me.

Through the open doorway I see my canvas of St. John...the painting assures me. Ah, the King has gone. F has gone. It is as if I had been asleep.

An assistant and I are making and repairing brushes; we are also grinding pigments (how hard it is to find someone who cares to do quality work); having discovered that my scale is inaccurate I am checking the grinding. It is no won­der my Saint John colors blend poorly. A faulty scale is a great hindrance.