g hope was all in vain,
Soul in mourning, torn heart anguished?
Then you understand my pain."

_Sappho_ was given to-night. I wore a sort of Neapolitan shirt of
blue crepe de Chine and old lace, with a white front. It can't be
described--it was as original and charming as possible, with a white
skirt and an alms-bag of white satin. We arrived at the end of the
first act, and were near P---- and R----, and I heard the voice of
the Marvel. Nothing can be said against her face, it is blooming;
whether real or artificial is of little consequence. She has
hair--oh, I don't know. At Spa, she was fairer than I; here, she is
darker

_"d'un serpent, jaune et sifflant_."

Now the American has gone home, and is doubtless in a sleep which
will preserve her twenty-seven-year-old complexion, while I am
awake. Just now I fell on my knees sobbing, beseeching God, with my
arms outstretched, my eyes fixed on space before me, exactly as if
God was there in my room. I believe I am uttering insolent things to
God.

The S----'s came, and after dinner we began to tell fortunes and
laughed almost as much as we did before, that is, the others did,
but I could not. Then we poured melted wax into cold water (it is
the shadow that is looked at). I had in succession a lion couchant
with one of his front paws extended, holding a rose; isn't it odd?
Then a great heap of something surmounted by a garland held by
Cupids.

As for M----, her wax figure cast a horrible shadow. A woman lying
as if dead with her hands crossed on her breast. O---- and Dina had
insignificant shadows. And, at fifteen minutes before midnight, four
mirrors were brought, two for Dina and two for me, and we took up
the great fortune telling.

I looked with all my eyes, without stirring, almost without
breathing. In the proper costume of night-gown and unbound hair. But
everything was very vague; it quivered, danced, formed, and reformed
every instant.

Saturday, January 1st, 1876.

Here is the new year. Greeting and mercy. Well, the first day of
1876 was not so bad as I expected. They say the whole year is spent
very much like the first day, and it is true. I spent the first of
last January in the cars, and I have really travelled a great deal.

To-morrow, yes, to-morrow I shall be glad to go. I am perfectly
happy, for I have made a plan--a plan that will fail like the
others, but which amuses me in the meanwhile. If it were not two
o'clock in the