r-in-law as he walked out.

Nossen! A ruined country-house, flanked by a mediaeval tower in the midst
of swamps. The nearest habitation miles away. Neither railway nor
post-office, neither telegraph nor telephone--just the place to bury one
alive. And I only thirty-one.

Augustus the Physical Strong imprisoned Countess Cosel at Nossen six
months before he sent her to her prison-grave in Stolpen. After Cosel's
departure, another royal mistress was lodged in Nossen, and as she would
neither commit suicide, nor succumb to the fever, they starved her to
death. And it all happened in the eighteenth century.

The word Nossen sent cold shivers down my spine. I am sure I won't sleep
a wink.

CHAPTER LIII

REVOLVER IN HAND, I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION

An insolent Grand Mistress, but of wonderful courage--Imprisonment,
threats to kill have no effect on her--Disregards my titles--My
lover's souvenir and endearing words--How she caused Henry to leave
me--My paroxysms of rage--Henry's complete betrayal of me.

PILLNITZ, _May 26, 1901_.

This morning I awoke a mental and physical wreck, but determined to
solve those vexatious questions: "What do the King and Prince George
know?" "What have they found out?"

I slipped on a dressing-gown, fetched my small revolver from its
hiding-place in the boudoir and rang for the Tisch.

I received her politely enough. I was quiet, cold, calculating. She gave
a start as she observed my stony countenance.

"Baroness," I said, motioning her to come nearer, "explain the attitude
assumed by His Majesty, Prince George and the rest."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I want to know. Do you hear, Grand Mistress? I command you to speak," I
cried.

A sneer of contempt hovered about her lips. She is a viper, this woman,
but has the courage of the rattle-snake in action.

I turned the keys in the several doors and threw them under the bed.
From under the pillow I drew my revolver.

I showed her the weapon and calmly announced, accentuating each word:
"You won't leave this room alive until the question I put to you is
answered to my satisfaction. I want the whole truth. You needn't excuse
your own part in the business. As Henri _Quatre_ said to the lover of
Diane de Poitiers, secreted under her bed, as he threw him half a cold
bird: 'We all want to live, some honestly, some dishonestly.' You choose
the dishonest road. Be it so.

"But I want you to state what you accu