As in days gone by, the poor "witch"--if she be young and comely--must face her accusers naked, the sworn torturer at her elbow, so I have no standing in law or decency before the Powers over social life or death in our sphere of society. If there be blemishes in my character, the King sees them magnified by the sharp tongues of evil creatures, his spies. There is no privacy. I must submit to be stared at, to have my flesh lacerated by curious eyes, and, as in the case of the old-time "witches," the handsomest were condemned the quicker because "the devil was more liable to choose them for an abode than ugly ones," so my very beauty will hasten my destruction. CHAPTER LXV FISTICUFFS DON'T SAVE MY CROWN The attempted theft of my Diary--Grand Mistress discovered after breaking open my desk--Reading Diary like mad--Personal encounter between me and Grand Mistress--I am the stronger, and carry off the manuscript, but have to leave all my love letters, which go to the King--I discover that they had stolen the key to my Diary from my neck. DRESDEN, _November 27, 1902_. I am undone. They tried to obtain a picture of Louise _in the nude_--Louise as she paints _Herself_--this Diary, in fact--and, though I foiled them, the King now has in his hands my entire correspondence--every letter from every man that ever approached or possessed me. And be sure he won't use them for curl papers as did the Duke of Richelieu with the remnants of his ladyloves' _billets doux_ that escaped confiscation. "My collection is incomplete. I have to begin another," he said. Alas, my collection was only _too_ complete! This is how it came about: As I was in the act of retiring last night, a clairvoyant's vision seized me. "Somebody meddling with your papers!" "They are breaking into your _secretaire_," the voices said. I slipped on a pair of bath sandals and stealthily opened the door of my boudoir. My writing desk was open, all the drawers ajar and in disorder; the Baroness bending over this, my Diary. She was reading like mad, her eyes danced with lust of revenge. With one bound I was at her side and she was so frightened at first, I thought she would drop. Her chest seemed to draw inward; she swayed to and fro. But only for a second or two. Then, recovering her self-possession, her fighting harness was in place again. "Go to your room, Royal Highness," she said in a tone of command. "These papers are confiscated in the name of the King." I was beside myself with rage. "My Diary," I cried; "instantly return it to me." More I couldn't say, for I had neither breath nor voice. My right hand was on the book when she attempted to seize it. I struck her hand with Richard's ring--I wish it was bigger, I wish it had a good diamond point--but she wouldn't let go. Then, before one could count one, two, three, I had hold of her--Heaven, how I enjoyed it; the satisfaction I had in giving rein to my passion, for all was up now, anyhow.