_ and I am going there
every afternoon.

He was splendid; he was modest, quiet. He seemed to exude happiness.

Lucretia is discretion itself. She kept behind us, but out of ear-shot.

"I came to tell you that you acted like a madman last night, and that
the offense must not be repeated," I said sternly to Bielsk.

"I _am_ a madman--in love," he replied, looking at me with big, soulful
eyes.

I chattered a lot of nonsense, prohibitions, commands, entreaties.

"Remove thy glove," he begged.

"You mustn't 'thou' me."

"Remove thy glove," he repeated.

Why I complied, I don't know, but I ripped off my glove, and he held my
hand in both his hands and kissed it and kissed it.

"What right have you got to treat me like a woman unmindful of her
duties?"

"I know that thou art lonesome, forlorn, Louise."

He struck at my heart as he spoke these words, and my eyes filled with
tears. He pressed his warm, pulsating lips on the palm of my hand,
covering it from wrist to finger-tips with wild kisses.

We were standing among the trees, and Lucretia, at a little distance,
was plucking flowers. The remnant of common sense I mustered told me:
"He is dishonoring you, repulse him," but his "I love thee, Louise,"
rang like music in my ears. However, I tore myself free at last.
"Farewell, we must never meet again."

And then I lay in his arms, on his broad chest, and he covered my face
with kisses, not passionate or insulting kisses. His lips touched
lightly my eyes, my cheeks, my own lips--recompense for the long fast he
had endured during all the months he had loved me at a distance.

Marvelous kisses kissed this man, pure kisses, lovely kisses, powerful
kisses. And I thought the whole world was falling to pieces around me
and I didn't care as long as only he and I were living. He himself freed
me.

"Tomorrow," he whispered.

I awoke confused, ashamed of my weakness, trembling.

"I'll never see you again. Never," I said as if I meant it.

"Tomorrow, love," he repeated. And I ran and joined Lucretia.

When we were riding home I told Lucretia to draw the curtains, and fell
upon her neck and told her all.

The good soul was nearly frightened to death and we cried a good deal.

* * * * *

DRESDEN, _January 5, 1898_.

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 la