We lunched at Charles’s, with Louis Blanc.
I then went to see Rochefort. He lives at 80, Rue Judaique. He is convalescent from an attack of erysipelas that at one time assumed a dangerous character. With him I found MM. Alexis Bouvier and Mourot, whom I invited to dinner to-day, at the same time asking them to transmit my invitation to MM. Claretie, Guillemot and Germain Casse, with whom I want to shake hands before I go.
On leaving Rochefort’s I wandered a little about Bordeaux. Fine church, partly Roman. Pretty Gothic flowered tower. Superb Roman ruin (Rue du Colysée) which they call the Palais Gallien.
Victor came to embrace me. He left for Paris at 6 o’clock with Louis Blanc.
At half past 6 I went to Lanta’s restaurant. MM. Bouvier, Mourot and Casse arrived. Then Alice. We waited for Charles.
The waiter who waits upon me at Lanta’s restaurant entered and told me that somebody wanted to see me. In the ante-chamber I found M. Porte, who lets the apartment at 13, Rue Saint Maur, that Charles occupied. M. Porte whispered to me to get Alice, who had followed me, out of the way. Alice returned to the salon. M. Porte said to me:
Dead! I could not believe it. Charles! I leaned against the wall for support.
M. Porte told me that Charles had taken a cab to go to Lanta’s, but had told the cabman to drive first to the Café de Bordeaux. Arrived at the Café de Bordeaux, the driver on opening the door of the cab, found Charles dead. He had been stricken with apoplexy. A number of blood vessels had burst. He was covered with blood, which issued from his nose and mouth. The doctor summoned pronounced him dead.
I would not believe it. I said: “It is a lethargy.” I still hoped. I returned to the salon, told Alice that I was going out, but would soon be back, and ran to the Rue Saint Maur. I had hardly reached there when they brought Charles.
March 14.--I have read again what I wrote on the morning of the 13th about the knocking I heard during the night.
Charles has been laid out in the salon on the ground floor of the house in the Rue Saint Maur. He lies on a bed covered with a sheet which the women of the house have strewn with flowers. Two neighbours, workingmen who love me, asked permission to watch by the body all night. The coroner’s physician, on uncovering the dear dead, wept.