ey cannot possibly encompass my thoughts. And my Diary is the
repository of my thoughts--thoughts that must not be defiled by your
favor-seeking curiosity. Be warned. The next time you dare act the
burglar--I say _burglar_--I will kick you out of doors like a thieving
lackey."

She got as white as a sheet and hissed back: "Your Imperial Highness
can't dismiss me. Only His Majesty has power----"

I interrupted her with an imperious gesture.

"I said I will kick you out of doors like a thieving lackey," I
repeated, "and I will do so this moment if you say another word. Whether
or not His Majesty will punish me for the act, that's _my_ business. You
will be on the street and will stay on the street."

I pointed to the door: "I dismiss you now. You will keep to your room
for the rest of the day."

I saw the Tisch was near collapse.

"Your Imperial Highness deigns to insult a defenseless woman," she
breathed as she went out.

Defenseless! So is the viper that attacks one's heel! First these
"defenseless" creatures goad one to madness, then they appeal to our
_noblesse oblige_. The enmity between the Tisch and I is more intense
than ever.

CHAPTER XLIX

ARISTOCRATIC VISITORS

I hear disquieting news about my lover's character--The aristocracy
a dirty lot--Love-making made easy by titled friends--Anecdotes of
Richelieu and the Duke of Orleans--The German nobleman who married
Miss Wheeler and had to resign his birthright--The disreputable
business the Pappenheims and other nobles used to be in--I am afraid
to question my lover as to charges.

LOSCHWITZ, _May 15, 1901_.

The Vitzthums have been visiting for a week. Henry lodges in the
village, but spends nearly all his time in the castle and grounds. We
play tennis, polo, ball; we drive, ride, go bicycling, we dine and sup
together.

I ought to be the happiest woman in the world, but a shadow dims the
ideal picture my mind's eye drew of the lover.

I have it recorded somewhere--I wish I hadn't, so I might doubt my
memory--that Henry told me he never borrowed from his sister. Countess
Vitzthum's confidences to me show that he did repeatedly, that, in fact,
he is forever trying to borrow.

"He is a spendthrift; he cannot be trusted," said his sister, who loves
him dearly. "He will wreck his career if he continues at the pace he is
going. Some day we may hear of him as a waiter or cab-driver in New
York."

These disclosures