I returned to Paris, dressed in heavy mourning, wearing a hat swathed in black crêpe georgette; but all the chestnuts were in flower, the tarmac was soft underfoot, and I could feel through my dress the gentle force of the sun. The fair was on in the Esplanade des Invalides: I strolled about there with my sister and Gégé, eating nougat that made our fingers sticky. They met a fellow art-student who took us off to her studio to listen to her records and drink port. What a lot of pleasure for one afternoon! Every day brought me something new: the smell of oil-paint in the Salon des Tuileries; at the Européen, there was Damia, whom I went to hear with Mallet; there were walks with Zaza and Lisa; the blue air of summer, and the sun. I was still filling the pages of my diary: they spoke unendingly of my new-found happiness.