ugh their pettinesses to scorn, for I have no
other thought now but Romano Bielsk, no other interests. He is my all,
my happiness.

Of course, his "_Tomorrow, love_," prevailed and it has been "_Tomorrow,
love_," ever since. On the day after our first meeting I actually
thought I was warring against nature if I resisted his entreaties. It
seemed to me that I had always known him, that we were predestined for
each other. I still think so.

Lucretia has a relative here, an aunt, member of the court set. Old
Countess Baranello delights in intrigue and hates Prince George. When I
told her of my affair, she placed her palace at our disposal, saying:

"Bielsk shall have a key to the garden gate and to the pavilion inside
the walls, which connects, through a subterranean passage, with my
sun-parlor. You can meet your love there any time. I will see to it that
none of the servants or workmen disturb you."

A capital arrangement, worthy of an old lady who has seen many gallant
days! There can be no possible objection to my visits at her palace, and
the grounds to which Romano has the _entree_ fronts on a street
unfrequented by society or carriages.

I descend from my carriage at the palace gate; a knot of people, a small
crowd, perhaps, collects to salute me and gape at the horses and livery.
I sweep up the stoop, lined by my own, and the Countess's, servants. The
bronze doors open. The Countess advances with stately curtsy; a few
words _sub rosa_, and I--fly into the arms of love, while faithful
Lucretia mounts guard at the street side, and Her Ladyship's spy glasses
cover the garden;--needless precautions, but----

It's rare fun, and, after all, where's the harm?

I made good as propagatrix of the royal race, and a union of soul such
as exists between me and Romano never entered into my relations with
Frederick Augustus.

Romano is very intelligent. I can learn from him; Frederick Augustus
taught me only coarseness, and if it came high, _double entendres_. Yet
my lover is only a Councillor of Legation! Because his superiors,
fearing his adroitness, keep him down.

My children! Have I ever been allowed to be a real mother to them? The
King, the nation, owns my little ones. I see them at stated intervals
for half an hour or so, and romp with them as I do with my dogs.

Still, I don't altogether approve of Louise, malicious girl! When I am
at the top-gallant of my happiness I sometimes say to myself: "Oh, if
only Geor