I received her politely enough. I was quiet, cold, calculating. She gave a start as she observed my stony countenance. "Baroness," I said, motioning her to come nearer, "explain the attitude assumed by His Majesty, Prince George and the rest." She shrugged her shoulders. "I want to know. Do you hear, Grand Mistress? I command you to speak," I cried. A sneer of contempt hovered about her lips. She is a viper, this woman, but has the courage of the rattle-snake in action. I turned the keys in the several doors and threw them under the bed. From under the pillow I drew my revolver. I showed her the weapon and calmly announced, accentuating each word: "You won't leave this room alive until the question I put to you is answered to my satisfaction. I want the whole truth. You needn't excuse your own part in the business. As Henri _Quatre_ said to the lover of Diane de Poitiers, secreted under her bed, as he threw him half a cold bird: 'We all want to live, some honestly, some dishonestly.' You choose the dishonest road. Be it so. "But I want you to state what you accuse me of. Hurry," I added menacingly. The Tisch was unmoved. Either she thinks me a horrible dastard or is brave to madness. She looked at me fearlessly and smiled. She seemed to enjoy my rage. "Answer or I will shoot you like the dog you are." And then her cold and fearless voice rang out: "Put your revolver away. I am not afraid to tell you, and that thing might go off. Is it possible," she continued sarcastically, "you have to ask?" This woman dared to address me "you." "Tisch," I thundered, "my title reads Your Imperial Highness." Another contemptuous smile curled her thin lips as she answered insolently: "At your commands. But if you want me to talk, put away the weapon. I won't open my head while threatened." I threw the revolver into a drawer of my chiffonier and the Tisch approached me. "Do you know this?" she hissed, whipping from her desert bosom the golden _Portebonheur_, Henry's present. I had missed it for two days. Fear seized my throat. "Do you know this?" repeated the Tisch, pushing the button and disclosing Henry's miniature with the legend "To my sweetest Louise." "Where did you get it?" I asked, half-dead with shame and fear. "Never mind. It's the last piece of evidence that fell into my hands. The real facts I have known for a long while." "And sold that knowledge?" "I did my duty." "Report, then." And she told the story of her infamy--or mine? My true relations with Henry were discovered by her at Loschwitz. He is a distant relative of hers and she an intimate friend of his mother. Hence she took care not to compromise the young man. The entire blame was put on me.