hard is poor. I offered him a considerable sum for one of his
paintings.

"Never again mention the matter," he said curtly.

"But it would give me much pleasure to be of assistance to you."

"Louise, we must separate if you don't stop that line of talk," he
replied.

And he means it.

A day or two later I let fall, casually, that Frederick Augustus might
buy the portrait of myself that was nearing completion under his
skillful brush.

"His Royal Highness won't have the chance," he cried fiercely. "I will
tell him it isn't finished, or doesn't come up to my artistic standard,
or something of the sort."

CHAPTER LX

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT LOOMS UP

My Grand Mistress shows her colors--Richard advises flight--I
hesitate on account of my children--My Grand Mistress steals a
letter from Richard to me--I opine that an adulteress's word is as
good as a thief's--I humble my Grand Mistress, but it won't do me
much good--Pleasant hours at his studio.

DRESDEN, _October 15, 1902_.

That dreadful dream is becoming a heart-breaking reality.

The Tisch entered my boudoir last night in her mantilla, emblem of her
office as Grand Mistress.

Some dirty business on hand, I surmised at once.

"Imperial Highness," she said, genuflexing ceremoniously, "I submit that
your artist takes too long about the portrait. Your Imperial Highness's
visits to the studio must cease."

"Since when do you give orders here, Baroness?"

"His Majesty empowered me," answered the Grand Dame.

"In that case, do as you like, but don't bother me," I cried bravely
enough, but trembling in every limb. The Tisch, no doubt, is preparing
to deal me another blow.

When I told Richard that henceforth we would have to exercise extra
care, he was beside himself with rage.

"Why stand such tyranny?" he cried. "No self-respecting woman, other
than royal, would submit for a single week to be bullied and intrigued
against and threatened and browbeaten as you are, and they have ill-used
you for eleven years. If you were a simple Cit's daughter, instead of
the descendant of a decrepit, bloodless family, yclept royal, you would
make an end now, leave them to their shabby kingship and be a free
woman--free and happy."

My lover forgets the children, but the picture of the free life he draws
is most attractive.

"And would you go with me to the end of the earth, as the story books
put it?" I asked tremblingly.

"Louise," he