Clinchaut, whose white hairs should claim reverence: but I doubt if I shall revere this old woman. She laughed so indecently at some of the jokes that were fired off, that I felt instinctively it was as well I did not understand them. Madame Martineau laughed, but it was in a deprecatory way. Madame de Belcour morally put her hand before her face, and smiled diabolically between her fingers, like Orcagna's 'Vergoznosa del Campo Santo,' which I remember seeing at Pisa, and which my dear father told me had passed into a proverb. What Miss Baring did I could not see. The only other person present was a Russian, of preternatural ugliness, who swelled the chorus of laughter, and talked incessantly at the other end of the table. I feel a profound distaste for my company. How shall I be able to endure life among such people? My heart sinks as I contemplate the prospect. I have voluntarily elected to pass, at least, many months here, and, were I alone, I could be content; but that I know, at my age, would be impossible in Paris. I am thankful I secured a sitting-room; there I can retire, immediately dinner is over, and be safe from intrusion. I must work—work. It is the only remedy to prevent my thoughts dwelling upon the horrible past; for 'this way madness lies'"
Two days later there was this entry:—
"I am more reconciled to this pension, chiefly owing to a person against whom I felt nothing but antipathy at first! So much for impressions. Miss Baring did not speak to me the first evening, and all yesterday we did not exchange six words. I spent it chiefly hunting for an atelier, and trying to find some class of painting I can
