rious funeral pyre,
So die the love-light in your eyes, if die it must,
And leave the wondrous, throbbing silence of the night.

Henry isn't very intellectual, I am afraid, but he is the finest
horseman in the world.

If I were Queen, I would barter a regiment to have him appointed my
Chief Master of Horse. Augustus of the three-hundred and fifty-two sold
one for his first night with Cosel.

I am racking my brains for a pretense to have him appointed to court
duty,--anything to give him the _entree_ to my apartments. But he is far
too beautiful. The sanctimonious cats that envy me my happiness, that
look upon love as a crime, would at once combine to destroy him.

Well, we'll have to bear with the difficulties of the situation forced
upon us by these moral busy-bodies. As for me, I'll be thrice careful,
for if He was taken away from me, all the joy would go out of my life.

CHAPTER XLV

LOVE AND THE HAPPINESS IT CONVEYS

My Grand Mistress suspects because I am so amiable--Pangs of
jealousy--Every good-looking man pursued by women--A good story of
my cousin, the Duchess Berri--We all go cycling together--The
Vitzthums--Love making on the street--A mud bath.

_December 15, 1900._

When one is in love and loved a-plenty, weeks and months roll by without
notice by the happy ones.

For my part I never thought there was so much happiness in the world as
I am experiencing since the beginning of September. But I have my
troubles, too. First, the Tisch. When a lady is well pleased by her
lover, then her eyes are bright, her cheeks glow, her lips smile; she
bears with her entourage; she is kind to her servants. The moment I
treated the Tisch as a human being, she began to suspect, and I am sure
she is eating her heart out fretting because God gave me both nuts and
teeth to crack them.

But I am qualifying as an expert deceiver, and my Grand Mistress won't
catch me in a hurry.

My other great trouble is: long separations from Henry, hours upon hours
in daytime, half the nights.

What is he doing when he is not with me? Of course he pretends to tell,
but I am not goose enough to suppose that he would incriminate himself
for the love of truth. He is hiding things from me, perhaps cheating me.
I have to arm myself with all the faith loving woman commands to
forestall occasional noisy out-breaks of jealousy.

Was there ever a good-looking man, women didn't try to capture and
sed