ctions. Maybe I will be able to forget
them, when I have done with this narrative. My mother, as pointed out,
had more confidence in our rascally court chaplain than in her own
children, and was far more concerned about the chaplain's dignity than
ours. She never hesitated to doubt her children's veracity, but regarded
all the chaplain said as gospel truth.

About two weeks before Easter, 1885, the time when I was just budding
into young womanhood, the chaplain began to pay me a great deal of
attention. The lessons he gave me to learn were insignificant compared
with those of my brothers and sisters, and it mattered not whether I
came to school prepared or otherwise. The strict disciplinarian had all
of a sudden turned lenient. He began to pat my hair, to give me friendly
taps on the shoulder, and never took his eyes off me. I was too young
and innocent to see the true significance of his strange behavior, but
I woke up suddenly and ran crying to my mother, telling her what had
happened.

"I won't take another lesson from that man, unless my lady-in-waiting is
present," I sobbed.

"You are a malicious, lying, low-minded creature," hissed my mother, at
the same time striking me in the face with her big diamonds. "It's
mortal sin to throw suspicion on so holy a man, and I will not have him
watched."

I ran out of mother's room crying, intending to go to papa, but met the
boys in the corridor, who told me that father had just departed for the
chase. Then I took Leopold aside and told him everything. He was
half-mad with rage and was hardly able to articulate when he rushed to
mother's room demanding protection for me.

"I will protect the holy man instead," answered my fanatic mother.
"Louise shall be locked in the room with the chaplain while she has her
lesson." And my mother actually carried out that wicked design inspired
by fanaticism.

Locked in a room with me, the chaplain was sweetness itself, but for a
while at least remained at a distance. When he attempted to approach me,
I seized the burning kerosene lamp, as Leopold had advised.

"One step more," I cried excitedly, "and I will throw the lamp in your
face."

The coward stood still in his tracks, and began whispering to me in a
hoarse voice things I hardly understood, but that nevertheless wounded
me to the quick. I kept my hand at the burning lamp during the whole
hour and was ready to faint when the fiend at last left me.

As the door opened, I saw