myself with joy. I sketch future pictures; I dream of painting an
Ophelia. Potain has promised to take me to Saint-Anne to study faces of
the mad women there, and then I am full of the idea of painting an old
man, an Arab, sitting down singing to the accompaniment of a kind of
guitar; and I am thinking also of a large affair for the coming Salon--a
view of the Carnival; but for this it would be necessary that I should go
to Nice--to Naples first for the Carnival, and then to Nice, where I have
my villa, to paint it in open air."

She now met Bastien-Lepage, who, while he was somewhat severe in his
criticism of her work, told her seriously that she was "marvellously
gifted." This gave her great pleasure, and, indeed, just at this time the
whole tone of the journal and her art enthusiasm are most comforting
after the preceding despairing months. From this time until her death
her journal is largely occupied with her health, which constantly failed,
but her interest in art and her intense desire to do something worthy of
a great artist--something that Julian, Robert-Fleury, and, above all,
Bastien-Lepage, could praise, seemed to give her strength, and, in spite
of the steady advance of the fell tuberculosis from which she was dying,
she worked devotedly.

She had a fine studio in a new home of the family, and was seized with an
ardent desire to try sculpture--she did a little in this art--but that
which proved to be her last and best work was her contribution to the
Salon of 1884. This brought her to the notice of the public, and she had
great pleasure, although mingled with the conviction of her coming death
and the doubts of her ability to do more. Of this time she writes: "Am I
satisfied? It is easy to answer that question; I am neither satisfied nor
dissatisfied. My success is just enough to keep me from being unhappy.
That is all."