I returned stupid, indifferent. It is the most detestable condition.
I would rather weep. I don't love him. I hate him with all the
strength with which I might have loved him. Nothing in the world
effaces the resentment I have once felt.

Do you remember all that is wounding and terrible expressed in the
one word "scorn"?

_I_ understand, I who remember the slap my brother gave me more than
twelve years ago, at whose recollection I am still as furious as if
I had received it now; I who have kept a sort of hatred of my,
brother on account of that childish affront. It was my only blow,
but to make up for it, I have given a goodly number and to
everybody. There was so much wickedness in my eyes that, when I
looked in the glass, I was frightened by it. Everything can be
pardoned except scorn. I would forgive a cruelty, a fit of passion,
insults uttered in a moment of anger, even an infidelity, when
people return and still love, but scorn--!


Monday, November 29th, 1875.

We went out at three o'clock. I who came to Nice in search of fine
weather encountered Parisian cold. I wore an otter skin hat, made in
the style of a baby hood, and my big sable pelisse covered with
white cloth. The costume created a sensation, and my face did not
look ugly, in spite of my fatigue.

I am so happy to be at home in my own house. I am sleeping in my
big dressing room. My chamber will be ready in a month; I shall find