A diplomatic trick--Jealous of Romano's past--The pact for life and the talisman--If there were a theatre fire the talisman would discover our love to the King--Some ill-natured reflections--Bernhardt's escapades cover up my tracks--The "black sheep" jumps his horse over a coffin--King gives him a beating--Bernhardt's mess-room lingo--Anecdotes of royal voluptuaries--Forces animals to devour each other--Naked ballet-girls as horses--Abnormals rule the world. DRESDEN, _May 20, 1898_. Romano learned about my theatre going by a diplomatic trick. He told one of the minor attaches of the Embassy that he had orders to watch me--"all-highest command." The official, consequently, negotiated with the box offices of all the theatres to phone him the moment Her Imperial Highness ordered seats. I am crazy to know how many women Romano loved in the twenty or more years since he grew to man's estate, and how many he seduced. It agitates and pains me to think of it, but all my questions are barren of results. Yesterday I asked him whether he ever knew a Princess of the Blood before me--"knew" in the biblical sense. "In love," he said, "there are no princesses, there are women only." He saw that I was hurt and added quickly: "Now don't be unreasonable, Louise--no prejudices. With the thought in my mind that you are an Imperial Highness, or that you consider yourself of better clay than I, I couldn't love you as I do." * * * * * DRESDEN, _July 1, 1898_. We made a life-pact. Romano cut a gold piece in two and bored a hole in each half. He drew thin gold chains through the holes, gave me one of the amulets, and kept the other. Our combined monograms were already engraved on the bits of gold _en miniature_. Each swore to wear the talisman on the naked body for life, but we exchange amulets daily, or as often as we meet. When I am enthroned in the royal box and look down upon my lover below, I think all the time of this, our secret understanding, and it sometimes occurs to me, that the opera house might get on fire and both of us perish. Next day our bodies would be found. In or near the royal box, that of a woman, burned so as to be unrecognizable at first. ("We are all of the same clay," says Romano.) And down in the orchestra floor they would find Romano's body, likewise unrecognizable. And on my charred breast they would find the half of a twenty-mark piece. And on his charred chest they would find the half of a twenty-mark piece. And they would put the two together and discover that they match. Consternation, speculation! Someone suggests that the mysterious gold pieces be photographed for publication and the engraver who made the monogram, and the jeweler who sold the two chains come forward as witnesses. Meanwhile the identity of my body is established. That of Romano's follows. _Scandalum magnatum!_ But what are you going to do about it, _Messieurs_?