He told me honestly enough how he got into debt. "How can one lay by for a rainy day when one hasn't got anything?" I appreciate the play of words, for I am in the same predicament. Only once has Henry touched a card, but he lost considerably in horse deals, as most young army officers do. His sister made a rich marriage, but he wouldn't discover himself to her. If she asked money of her husband, there might be trouble, for Vitzthum is not a liberal man. * * * * * LOSCHWITZ, _April 1, 1901_. The children's health called for country air and I was quasi-forced to retire to Loschwitz, though I have a thousand and one reasons for remaining in Dresden. Frederick Augustus accompanies us. After the strenuous city life (in Dresden!), he needs a change and a long rest from drinking and carousing, he says boastingly. Of course, while he is here, I dare not invite the Vitzthums. But as soon as he is gone, they shall come for a couple of weeks, and their presence will make Henry's possible. It's dreadful the way I miss the sweet boy. I suffer like a dog, when the longing seizes me, suffer both in heart and body. When I contemplate his miniature, tears come into my eyes. I often cry for hours thinking of him. And to have to endure this great booby of a husband of mine day and night, especially nights. It's almost more than I can bear. The grossness of his egotism reminds me of the story told of King James, whom the English got rid of in 1689. The Dutch William, instead of waiting peacefully for the heritage of his father-in-law, went to claim it before his death, and James, pressed on all sides by enemies, decided upon flight. One Sunday, in the month of December, his devotions over, he dismissed all his servants and advised his last partisans to turn towards the rising sun. After which, he lay for an hour with his wife, the better to take leave of her." The very thing Frederick Augustus would do if war or revolution made us fugitives. I never realized the diversity in our natures as much as I do now, when all my thoughts go out to another, when even connubial tendernesses seem like whip-strokes. The further our souls draw apart, the more disgusting this forced intimacy, the prostitution under the marriage vow, which I detest and abhor. But what will I do? Shut my door to him? He would kick it in, or climb through the window. It's easier to submit to the violation of my person than to breaking of locks and furniture. CHAPTER XLVII LOVE'S INTERMEZZO Bernhardt takes advantage of my day-dreams--My husband's indolent _gaucherie_--Violent love-making--Ninon who loved families, not men--Does Bernhardt really love me? LOSCHWITZ, _April 10, 1901_. Fortunately Bernhardt came for a few days to relieve the monotony of my alcove life _par le droit du plus fort_.