Today has been a day much more in keeping with my quiet life back in Auvergne. There have been no crying servants, no sudden summons, no disquieting suitors, and certainly no rushed marriages. I rose late, very late in fact as it was past eleven, and lingered over breakfast with my letters. Maman came in to see me, as she does not sleep past nine in the morning unless she is ill, and we conversed for a while. I asked for a bath to be drawn, which Marianne did as Pauline was feeling unwell. A long leisurely soak ended with me deciding to have my hair washed, as it has been quite some time since it was last done.
That being accomplished I read some, wrote to my steward, visited the Orangerie to look in on the flowers still blooming there, and spend a good part of the day embroidering a pair of pockets that I have been meaning to finish for months. I also sent Marianne to inquire after a fan I had ordered a while ago and which should have been completed by now.
I was, in the midst of the peaceful solitude, disquieted by the thought that I came here to Paris with a plan and a purpose. I must, it seems, return to Auvergne unsuccessful and with a concern for having rejected the King's very generous offer and what that may bring. I have spent the last few months enjoying society and its many divertissements, instead of helping my case; as I could not help it in any conceivable way. Have I wasted the time I came here to fullfill, or could I truly not have done otherwise? My conclusion is that I have done what I could, but I cannot deny that I have taken every opportunity to enjoy myself as well. No, for that I will not be ashamed. In many ways it has been wonderful, and I should not be sorry to return.