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sentatives, Frederick Augustus and I, and were obliged to say a few nothingnesses to a hundred paltry persons or more. When the Ambassador introduced Count Bielsk, I said in the most careless voice of the world, "I hear you love the theatre, Count." "I don't care a rap for the theatre," he replied. "I go to opera and operetta simply to see you, Imperial Highness." Such audacity! And he spoke quite loud. Frightened, I turned to the next person presented, saying something imbecile, no doubt. Later I withdrew upon the dais to watch the dancing, and at a moment when I was quite alone, he came up to me, making it appear as if I had commanded his attendance. "I have much to say to Your Imperial Highness." I didn't have my wits about me and didn't know how to act. He repeated twice or oftener: "Pray, Your Imperial Highness, I have something to say to you," until, at last, I threw etiquette to the winds and asked: "Why should you wish to talk to me in private, Count?" No royal woman indulging in lovers ever encouraged a rogue more carelessly. "Because my life and happiness depend on what I have to say to you." And, weaker still, I assented by the tone of my voice rather than words: "You make me curious, Count. Whatever you have to say, say it now." He raised his eyes to me, with a soul and reputation-destroying look. "Thanks!" Then wildly, clamorously: "Louise, I love you." Instinctively I thought of flight, but his eyes wouldn't let me rise. From that moment on he dropped my title. "Stay," he whispered, "I beseech you, stay. Don't you see that I love you to distraction? I have kept silent these many months. Now I must talk. I love thee, Louise." I tried in vain to collect my thoughts while his love talk fanned my blood. Finally I managed to say: "Can't you see that you are playing _va banque_?" "I know, but it doesn't interest me. Let my career be wrecked, I care not; I've got only one thought in the world--thee, only one wish--thee. And I must either love thee or die." I turned my eyes away and rose abruptly. As he bowed to kiss my hand, he whispered, still "_thou'ing_" me: "I expect you tomorrow at the end of the Grand Boulevard. Come when you please. I will wait all day." * * * * * And here I am thinking, thinking, thinking. "The end of the Boulevard" is the beginning of Dresden's _Bois_. Does this madman really suppose that Her Imperial Highness, the Cr
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