any longer the involuntary confidant of an obscene anecdote, told in
such immodest language that I felt as much humiliated as I was indignant
at having heard it. Would not the most elementary good-breeding have
taught them to speak in a lower tone about such matters when we are near
at hand? Etretat is, moreover, the country of gossip and scandal. From
five to seven o'clock you can see people wandering about in quest of
nasty stories about others, which they retail from group to group. As
you remarked to me, my dear Aunt, tittle-tattle is the mark of petty
individuals and petty minds. It is also the consolation of women who are
no longer loved or sought after. It is enough for me to observe the
women who are fondest of gossiping to be persuaded that you are quite
right.

The other day I was present at a musical evening at the Casino, given by
a remarkable artist, Madame Masson, who sings in a truly delightful
manner. I took the opportunity of applauding the admirable Coquelin, as
well as two charming boarders of the Vaudeville, M---- and Meillet. I
was able, on the occasion, to see all the bathers collected together
this year on the beach. There were not many persons of distinction among
them.

One day I went to lunch at Yport. I noticed a tall man with a beard who
was coming out of a large house like a castle. It was the painter, Jean
Paul Laurens. He is not satisfied apparently with imprisoning the
subjects of his pictures; he insists on imprisoning himself.

Then I found myself seated on the shingle close to a man still young, of
gentle and refined appearance, who was reading some verses. But he read
them with such concentration, with such passion, I may say, that he did
not even raise his eyes toward me. I was somewhat astonished, and I