Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess Part 28

And here I am thinking, thinking, thinking.

"The end of the Boulevard" is the beginning of Dresden's _Bois_. Does this madman really suppose that Her Imperial Highness, the Crown Princess of this kingdom, will lower herself and respond to his demand for a rendezvous?

Yet, how he must love me to risk saying what he did say to me. He is no ill-balanced youth; he is a man of ripe judgment. His pa.s.sion got the better of him.

I adore pa.s.sion.

I must go no more to the theatre. Impossible for me to see him nightly.

But it's a fine thing to be loved as I am. The most beautiful thing in the wide, wide world!

DRESDEN, _April 27, 1897. In the Morning._

He is waiting. Doubtless he expects me. What a persuasive thing love is, to be sure! Because he loves me, he argues that the Crown Princess, the wife and mother, will rush to meet him, fall into his arms.

Of course, he will be most unhappy if I don't go, for I am sure he is not your ordinary "petticoat-chaser." He will suffer, he is suffering now while I sit here quietly.

Am I quiet? If I weren't determined to stay at home, I would half-admit to myself that my soul is obsessed with longing for this man.

A diplomat, who has seen much of court life, a.s.sumes that a woman in my position is at liberty to keep rendezvous! Let's reason it out.

To begin with, Lucretia has to be won over. That's easy enough, but the coachman and lackey! They must be told that Her Imperial Highness is graciously pleased to _walk_ in the _Bois_, the carriage waiting at the end of the Grand Boulevard.

_After Luncheon._

I ought to have said to him, I won't come. It's cruel to let him wait on a street corner and not even send notice, and to tip him off is impossible.

And come to think of it, if Lucretia and I were promenading in the _Bois_ and met the Count by accident, where's the harm? And if I don't go--Good Lord, he might kill himself. He is desperate enough for that.

And he might leave letters compromising me.

I will go to give him a piece of my mind. I will be very harsh with him, very adamant.

And I will try to find out how he manages to select always the same theatre as I.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

RAPID LOVE MAKING IN THE BOIS

A discreet maid--"Remove thy glove"--Kisses of pa.s.sion, pure kisses, powerful kisses--I see my lover daily--Countess Baranello offers "doves' nest"--Driving to rendezvous in state--"Naughty Louise," who makes fun of George.

DRESDEN, _June 1, 1897._

A month of untold happiness. I went to the _Bois_ and I am going there every afternoon.

He was splendid; he was modest, quiet. He seemed to exude happiness.

Lucretia is discretion itself. She kept behind us, but out of ear-shot.

"I came to tell you that you acted like a madman last night, and that the offense must not be repeated," I said sternly to Bielsk.

"I _am_ a madman--in love," he replied, looking at me with big, soulful eyes.

I chattered a lot of nonsense, prohibitions, commands, entreaties.

"Remove thy glove," he begged.

"You mustn't 'thou' me."

"Remove thy glove," he repeated.

Why I complied, I don't know, but I ripped off my glove, and he held my hand in both his hands and kissed it and kissed it.

"What right have you got to treat me like a woman unmindful of her duties?"

"I know that thou art lonesome, forlorn, Louise."

He struck at my heart as he spoke these words, and my eyes filled with tears. He pressed his warm, pulsating lips on the palm of my hand, covering it from wrist to finger-tips with wild kisses.

We were standing among the trees, and Lucretia, at a little distance, was plucking flowers. The remnant of common sense I mustered told me: "He is dishonoring you, repulse him," but his "I love thee, Louise,"

rang like music in my ears. However, I tore myself free at last.

"Farewell, we must never meet again."

And then I lay in his arms, on his broad chest, and he covered my face with kisses, not pa.s.sionate or insulting kisses. His lips touched lightly my eyes, my cheeks, my own lips--recompense for the long fast he had endured during all the months he had loved me at a distance.

Marvelous kisses kissed this man, pure kisses, lovely kisses, powerful kisses. And I thought the whole world was falling to pieces around me and I didn't care as long as only he and I were living. He himself freed me.

"Tomorrow," he whispered.

I awoke confused, ashamed of my weakness, trembling.

"I'll never see you again. Never," I said as if I meant it.

"Tomorrow, love," he repeated. And I ran and joined Lucretia.

When we were riding home I told Lucretia to draw the curtains, and fell upon her neck and told her all.

The good soul was nearly frightened to death and we cried a good deal.