morning, I would write a whole story of the sale of a
soul. The brutes--I have not wept, I have not felt sad once. A very
pleasant day to commence the year. I shall go and think only of
returning. No doubt I shall change my mind in Rome. All the same,
this is where I should like to live.

I had already closed my book, but I and a lot of things to say. I
have looked at the great caricature, there are five of us. I have
thought of everything; of Mme. B----, of the English, of the people
of Nice, of S----, of "Mignon." In a word, a quantity of things. I
had a great deal to say, and lo! I stop.

It is tiresome to go, but it is horrible to stay. P---- has dramatic
emotions so genuine that she delights and thrills me. Come, what was
I going to write? That I am calm and agitated, sorrowful and joyous,
jealous and indifferent. It seems to me that fastidious society is
possible to have and, at the same time, it is impossible.

"I wish to stay and I wish to go,
How it will end I do not know."

I cannot lie down. I am sorrowful, excited.

Oh, calm yourself, for Heaven's sake. It hasn't anything to do with
M. A----, but simply that I am going. The uncertainty, the
vagueness, leaving the known for the unknown.

Sunday, January 2nd, 1876.

"I shall go Sunday at three o'clock," I said or rather shrieked, and
Sunday at one o'clock everything was topsy-turvy. The trunks were
still empty, and the floor was covered with gowns and finery. For
my part, I put on a grey dress and waited quietly. C---- and Dina
worked, and so well that everything was ready for the hour of
departure.

At half past two, C---- and I got into a little cab and went to hear
the band, and I listened once more to the municipal music of Nice.
"Come," I said to Collignon, "if this piece is gay, our journey
will be, too. I am superstitious." And the piece was very lively. So
much the better!

I saw G----, who bid me good-bye once more. I haven't seen the
Marvel, but that doesn't matter.

We got into the landau again, and went to the station. Our friends
came there, one after another. I skipped about, I laughed, I
chattered like a bird. How kind they are, and how hard it is to
leave them.

"You feign this gaiety," said B----to me, "but in your heart you are
weeping, I am sure of it."

"Ah! you think so? No!

"When to Nice you bid good-bye,
Unfeigned joy is in your eye.
Easy 'tis from Nice to part,
For she never wins your