Alas, with women in love the extreme of ugliness counts as triumphantly as the charms of Adonis. Ever since I read certain passages of Faust, part II, Eduard von Hartmann's "Philosophy of the Unconscious," and Lermontoff's "Hero of our Times," I am convinced that to love a man very good-looking, or, on the contrary, a perfect horror, is no sinecure. Fortunately Henry is almost penniless. * * * * * DRESDEN, _January 2, 1901_. Henry's sister married one of the numerous Vitzthums, of the family that furnished the Saxon court with titled servants and _maitresses en titre_ for the past several hundred years. I immediately sent word to her ladyship, that having taken up bicycling, I would be pleased to have her attend me on the wheel on the afternoon following. The invitation was issued from the office of my Court Marshal, which is controlled by the King's. Having thus secured beforehand His Majesty's approval, possible criticism was nipped in the bud. The bride asked permission to bring her husband. "Granted. Order of dress: _mufti_." This enabled us, myself and Henry, and the Count and Countess to ride all over town, unrecognized by either officials or the public at large. It was great fun, and I told the Vitzthums that I intended to wheel every morning at nine, immediately after breakfast. Count Vitzthum is Henry's colonel. Of course he granted both Henry and himself furlough for the time set. What happiness! Now I don't have to wait till afternoon and evening to see my lover. * * * * * DRESDEN, _January 10, 1901_. I am so happy, I am growing careless. The Vitzthums, profiting by the fact that they are but recently married, prefer to travel in pairs, and always take the lead. Accordingly Henry and myself, incog. as far as my future subjects go, are free to indulge in occasional caresses and sweet nonsense-talk. I was pouring honeyed words into Henry's ears the other morning when my wheel skidded on the wet pavement, and before he, or I, could save me, I was down on my back in the mud. The fact that I was again _enceinte_, and the other fact that I was covered with dirt, ought to have prompted me to return to the palace at once, but how un-Louise-like the straight and sane course would have been. I allowed myself to be wiped off by Henry; then mounted my wheel anew and raced after the Vitzthums. Unfortunately, a reporter heard of the incident and, for the benefit of his pocket, made a column out of it. A few hours after the story appeared in the evening paper, the palace was in an uproar. The King wasn't well enough to scold me, so he delegated that pleasant duty to Prince George. His Royal Highness promptly informed me that the "damned bicycling had to stop." CHAPTER XLVI FEARS FOR MY LOVE