"Yes, you will, Imperial Highness, for such are my orders," cried the court chaplain. Leopold said doggedly, "I kneel before the altar and before the Emperor, if he demands it, not before such as you." "Suppose I call on your Imperial Highness's mother and ask her to forbid you to mount a horse for a month or so?" queried our tormentor. Horseback riding was Leopold's chief pleasure, and the chaplain had no sooner launched his threat, when Leopold opened the window and apparently jumped out. As the school-room was situated in the third story, the teacher thought his pupil dead on the pavement below, but Leopold was merely hanging on to the stone coping and shutters. That gave him the whip hand over the teacher. "I will let go if you don't promise not to inform mother," demanded the twelve-year-old boy. "I promise, only come in," moaned the teacher. "Promise furthermore there shall be no punishment whatever for what I did and said." "None whatever, your Imperial Highness." "Swear it on the cross." The chaplain did as ordered and Leopold crawled back to safety. Leopold is a good deal like me, and has been in hot water more or less all his life. When I was a girl of fifteen, he defended my honor at the risk of the fearful punishments my mother had in store for those children that wouldn't buckle down to the chaplain, but that is so sad a chapter of my girlhood days I cannot bring myself to put it down today. CHAPTER VI LEOPOLD DEFENDS MY HONOR AT HIS PERIL Punished for objecting to familiarities--Awful names I was called--Locked in the room with wicked teacher--Defend myself with burning lamp--My brother nearly kills my would-be assailant. CASTLE WACHWITZ, _April 2, 1893_. I want to finish with evil recollections. Maybe I will be able to forget them, when I have done with this narrative. My mother, as pointed out, had more confidence in our rascally court chaplain than in her own children, and was far more concerned about the chaplain's dignity than ours. She never hesitated to doubt her children's veracity, but regarded all the chaplain said as gospel truth. About two weeks before Easter, 1885, the time when I was just budding into young womanhood, the chaplain began to pay me a great deal of attention. The lessons he gave me to learn were insignificant compared with those of my brothers and sisters, and it mattered not whether I came to school prepared or otherwise. The strict disciplinarian had all of a sudden turned lenient. He began to pat my hair, to give me friendly taps on the shoulder, and never took his eyes off me. I was too young and innocent to see the true significance of his strange behavior, but I woke up suddenly and ran crying to my mother, telling her what had happened. "I won't take another lesson from that man, unless my lady-in-waiting is present," I sobbed.