g George, he said he would thank
God if I succeeded in breaking your rebellious spirit. 'If you don't, I
will,' added his Majesty."

Then father kissed me more lovingly than ever and asked, half
apologetically: "Is it true, Louise, that you had a lover?"

"I thought I had one, but he was unworthy of me," I replied without
shame.

My confession seemed to frighten him.

"It's sad, sad," he said. "Royal blood is dangerous juice. It brought
Mary of Scots to the scaffold; it caused your great-aunt Marie
Antoinette to lose her head, only to save the old monarchies a few years
later, when we inveigled the enemy of legitimate kingship into a
marriage with another of your relatives. But for Marie, Louise, the
descendants of the Corsican might still sit on a dozen thrones."

Father forgot his daughter's disgrace when he mounted this historic
hobby-horse and, needless to say, I did not recall the original text.

Only when, three days later, he took leave of me, holding my head long
between his two trembling hands and kissing me again and again, I felt
that the poor, old man's heart was oppressed with shame and torn by
fears.

CHAPTER LVIII

MONSIEUR GIRON--RICHARD, THE ARTIST

The King asks me to superintend lessons by M. Giron--A most
fascinating man--His Grecian eyes--He is a painter as well as a
teacher--In love--Careless whether I am caught in my lover's
arms--"Richard" talks anarchy to me--Why I don't believe in woman
suffrage--Characters and doings of women in power.

DRESDEN, _July 1, 1902_.

King George is determined I shall stay in Dresden to end the newspaper
talk about trouble in the bosom of the royal family.

He engaged a new head-tutor for my little brood. Monsieur Giron, a
Belgian of good family.

"I would be pleased if you attended the children's lessons and reported
to me on the method of the new man," he said. "You are so intellectual,
Louise, you will find out quickly if M. Giron is not what he is
represented to be."

I promised, for, after all, I owed so much to the King and my children.

Alas, it was fate!

* * * * *

DRESDEN, _July 1, After Midnight_.

He is tall, well made, and his wild, Grecian eyes fascinate me. He is
conscious of self, but modest. His voice is sweet and sonorous, his eyes
are bright with intellect. Speaking eyes!

I asked him to visit my apartments at the conclusion of school hours. He
told me he