._

It's done.

Barthels came tonight. He was so feverish, so passionate, there was so
much humble solicitation in his looks and manners, I was moved to pity.

This man is too over-awed by my rank to ever permit himself to express
his feelings by word of mouth. He talked of everything but love and was
in the midst of a learned dissertation when I sunk my eyes in his and
said:

"Why do you try to hide things from me? Don't I know what's in your
heart?"

Like a little criminal--as my oldest boy does occasionally--he turned
red, then white, then red again. He buried his face in his hands. He
trembled. He seemed to be crying. I arose, and lightly laid my hand upon
his blonde head.

He's got the finest, silkiest hair in the world, shimmering like beaten
gold.

And then he lay at my feet, covering them with kisses. And instantly all
his force, his courage, his eloquence returned.

He went away like a man a-dreaming.

I long for him; I confess I long for him. Whether I love him or not I
don't know. But that I know, I _will_ love him.

And if I cannot, what matters it? I don't have to love to be happy. To
_be_ loved is enough. I want to be his Queen, his life.

* * * * *

DRESDEN, _July 1, 1899_.

Privy Councillor von Barthels told the King that my delicate condition
needs constant watching. I go to his clinic every second day, while he
visits me once or twice daily at the palace.

* * * * *

Like Melita I am never a bit repentant of my peccadilloes.

If I don't want to do a thing, neither Kaiser, King, George, Frederick
Augustus, my parents, the Pope, nor the whole world, can make me. But if
I resolve to follow my sweet inclinations, rueing and pining are out of
question.

Ferdinand is the most devoted of lovers. He has unlimited
tendernesses--a new experience for me.

The lover of my girlhood days overwhelmed me by audacity. The Shah used
me like a show-girl. Romano was imperious, super-mannish. For him I was
only the female of the species.

Sometimes, in the midst of an embrace, Ferdinand suddenly seems to
recollect that a Queen trembles in his arms; the master turns _ame
damnee_. I am Sultana, Louise-Catherine.

Like Catherine the Great, I would throw millions to my favorites and
millions more when I dismissed one. At any rate, I would give each a
hundred thousand marks "to furnish himself with linen and silks,"--a
_mot_ invented b