Poor A- said nothing but we had [a] scene the moment he was gone, such as at Barèges, about being styled as my niece – not acknowledged etc. I said what melancholy folly it was that I really could not stand it – I would not leave her, but she might leave me, and we had best go home. She cried her eyes up, but at last was sorry – saying she would rather die on the road than be left here and could never bear to see Count P[anin] again but be glad to leave here tomorrow if she could. These things are now become too common to have the force of novelty. I must do as well as I can – the best I can – but what that will be, time alone can tell.

In bed with her, quiet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s