I neglected my diary, I neglect everything, for I'm in love. What care I for the King, Prince George and the rest who are trying to make life miserable for me? I laugh their pettinesses to scorn, for I have no other thought now but Romano Bielsk, no other interests. He is my all, my happiness. Of course, his "_Tomorrow, love_," prevailed and it has been "_Tomorrow, love_," ever since. On the day after our first meeting I actually thought I was warring against nature if I resisted his entreaties. It seemed to me that I had always known him, that we were predestined for each other. I still think so. Lucretia has a relative here, an aunt, member of the court set. Old Countess Baranello delights in intrigue and hates Prince George. When I told her of my affair, she placed her palace at our disposal, saying: "Bielsk shall have a key to the garden gate and to the pavilion inside the walls, which connects, through a subterranean passage, with my sun-parlor. You can meet your love there any time. I will see to it that none of the servants or workmen disturb you." A capital arrangement, worthy of an old lady who has seen many gallant days! There can be no possible objection to my visits at her palace, and the grounds to which Romano has the _entree_ fronts on a street unfrequented by society or carriages. I descend from my carriage at the palace gate; a knot of people, a small crowd, perhaps, collects to salute me and gape at the horses and livery. I sweep up the stoop, lined by my own, and the Countess's, servants. The bronze doors open. The Countess advances with stately curtsy; a few words _sub rosa_, and I--fly into the arms of love, while faithful Lucretia mounts guard at the street side, and Her Ladyship's spy glasses cover the garden;--needless precautions, but---- It's rare fun, and, after all, where's the harm? I made good as propagatrix of the royal race, and a union of soul such as exists between me and Romano never entered into my relations with Frederick Augustus. Romano is very intelligent. I can learn from him; Frederick Augustus taught me only coarseness, and if it came high, _double entendres_. Yet my lover is only a Councillor of Legation! Because his superiors, fearing his adroitness, keep him down. My children! Have I ever been allowed to be a real mother to them? The King, the nation, owns my little ones. I see them at stated intervals for half an hour or so, and romp with them as I do with my dogs. Still, I don't altogether approve of Louise, malicious girl! When I am at the top-gallant of my happiness I sometimes say to myself: "Oh, if only George could see me now!" Naughty Louise--it's unworthy of thee. What do I care for George, what do I care for the world? CHAPTER XXXVIII "IN LOVE THERE ARE NO PRINCESSES, ONLY WOMEN"