During the war I have often actually not known where I should sleep, or of what my next meal would consist. I write this frankly, without a particle of false shame--firm in the approval of my own conscience. I have never willingly injured anyone. I have suffered in silence. I am speaking to-day in my own defence, bringing as evidence a family drama which touches contemporary history. I speak with candour, but I am not actuated by feelings of hatred. Wickedness has diminished. But my personal sufferings have in nowise lessened. I was born a king's daughter, I shall die a king's daughter. I have certainly pleaded for assistance, but more on behalf of my attendants than for myself. I could not bear to see these devoted creatures, my comfort and support in my misery, weep and grow pale during these dark days. The count had been obliged to leave Munich. On the morning of August 25, 1916, his room was suddenly invaded by the police. He was put in prison, then taken to Hungary, and afterwards interned near Budapest. He was by birth a Croatian and therefore regarded as a subject of the Entente, even before the defeat which united Croatia and Servia. Human justice is really only a word! On the same day Olga, my principal attendant, an Austrian who had always shown me an invaluable and long-standing devotion, was also arrested. She was afterwards released. But I understood the significance of this--the order had come from the highest authority to alienate everyone who cared for me. I will describe what followed. My French maid, whose care of me was so disinterested, was interned. If my faithful Olga had not come out of prison, and if I had not had the means to keep her, I should have been completely isolated. But, shortly after this, I really did not know how to supply my daily needs. My last jewels had been sold. I was now as poor as the poor souls who implored my charity. What should I decide to do, what should I attempt? If I appealed to my daughter I knew that I should be up against the Duke of Holstein. He was absolutely pitiless. All this happened in July, 1917. Providence now threw in my way an honourable man, a Swiss professor, who was terribly distressed at my fate. He generously offered to help me to reach Silesia, where my daughter was in residence at one of her castles. This castle is not far from Breslau. I therefore left Munich, with Olga, in the hope of seeing my child and obtaining from her some temporary shelter. But when I reached my journey's end I tried in vain to be received, listened to, and assisted by Dora. I was therefore stranded in a little village in the Silesian mountains, where my last few marks soon disappeared. The count had tried to send me the wherewithal to exist. Without any warning, the German postal authorities retained the money and returned his letters.