That is where the
difficulty lies--to be like a grown person and yet not extravagant
and overdressed.

Later I felt very unhappy and began to sing: "Knowst thou the land?"
and fell on my knees, weeping. Why? It is a relief to lie on the
ground. Because, in the last scene, a love scene, P---- had in her
voice--it gave one a thrill--I would die for the truth--and
joyfully.

This is it, he who slays with the sword shall perish by the sword.

It seems as if I had loved. I feel in despair; I don't know why, but
it was a torturing feeling and made me weep.

Tuesday, November 16th, 1875.

I left Nice to-day with my aunt, I was ready to cry every instant.

"Do you want a pillow?" she asked.

"No."

"Are you ill?"

"No."

"But you look so pale."

"I am tired."

"You must be ill; where do you feel pain?"

"Everywhere!--Come, Aunt, don't disturb me, I am composing."

"Ah!"

"Oh! there is nothing like the rolling of a carriage to give ideas."

"Aha! That's different; well, well, I didn't know."

And she left me to compose at my ease. Then, after a silence:

"Why did A---- turn so pale when P---- began to sing: 'Knowst thou
the land?'"

"How could you have seen? For my part, I can never notice whether a
person turns pale or blushes."

"Yes, you, because you can't see at a distance, but I can. He turned
as white as a sheet when she sang: 'There would I fain live!'"

"I saw nothing."

Wednesday, November 17th, 1875.

Many things have changed since Monday. I don't wish to die, no
matter where and no matter how, and I have since been ashamed of
myself. I meant to trifle with the man, and it seems as if the man
was trifling with me. This insult, joined to the wrath I feel for my
weakness Monday, makes me detest him.

At six o'clock we arrived without having secured any accommodations
at the Grand Hotel, so we took rooms at the Hotel Splendide.

"Is it worth while to choose for a hero a miserable Nice scamp like
that A----?" said my aunt, "and to write a lot of stuff about him?"

Certainly my aunt understands nothing of the matter, and that is
very fortunate. I do think of him, and yet if he loved me, I would
not consent to be his wife. No one in the household considered him
a suitable match. They noticed him because I was interested in him.
They talked about him because they saw it gave me pleasure, yet if I
said I wanted to marry him they would think me crazy, would raise a
loud outcry, for they