I see him every day either in the morning or the evening. To do this, I have invented a young girl whom I meet at Christiane's, and whom I am teaching to paint on china. Every day I am amazed I am not found out, and I am getting quite reckless and go to his flat without the slightest hesitation even in broad daylight.
But I know that should the day come that I am found out, and they forbid me to see him, I shall leave home. About that I have quite made up my mind, that is irrevocable. Then let come what may. I have said nothing to him about this, yet it is he who has given me the courage to take so decided a resolution. For during these last days, it has become more clear to me that after all his love for me is not a mere passing fancy. I am trying to make myself useful to him, and I believe I have succeeded and that he is beginning to miss me when I am not there. I go errands for him, read to him, and write letters at his dictation. He calls me his private secretary, and discusses all his affairs with me.
In reality we are just like man and wife. I come and go as if his flat were my own. I look after his flowers, and when I am not reading to him or have other work to do, I sew initials on his table linen. Even his old maid has got into the habit of asking my advice about what to give him for dinner—for monsieur is rather difficult to please.
He is on the whole, I think, what one calls an egoist. As a bachelor, he is accustomed to have
