DRESDEN, _January 16, 1901_.

I brought my mite to our rendezvous. Mostly in small bills and twenty-mark pieces. If Henry knew that many of these were earned in the right royal fashion of having them slipped down one's stocking by a husband, too drunk to distinguish a royal palace from a dance-hall!

He told me honestly enough how he got into debt. "How can one lay by for a rainy day when one hasn't got anything?"

I appreciate the play of words, for I am in the same predicament.

Only once has Henry touched a card, but he lost considerably in horse deals, as most young army officers do.

His sister made a rich marriage, but he wouldn't discover himself to her. If she asked money of her husband, there might be trouble, for Vitzthum is not a liberal man.

LOSCHWITZ, _April 1, 1901_.

The children's health called for country air and I was quasi-forced to retire to Loschwitz, though I have a thousand and one reasons for remaining in Dresden. Frederick Augustus accompanies us. After the strenuous city life (in Dresden!), he needs a change and a long rest from drinking and carousing, he says boastingly.

Of course, while he is here, I dare not invite the Vitzthums. But as soon as he is gone, they shall come for a couple of weeks, and their presence will make Henry's possible.

It's dreadful the way I miss the sweet boy. I suffer like a dog, when the longing seizes me, suffer both in heart and body. When I contemplate his miniature, tears come into my eyes. I often cry for hours thinking of him.

And to have to endure this great b.o.o.by of a husband of mine day and night, especially nights. It's almost more than I can bear.

The grossness of his egotism reminds me of the story told of King James, whom the English got rid of in 1689.

The Dutch William, instead of waiting peacefully for the heritage of his father-in-law, went to claim it before his death, and James, pressed on all sides by enemies, decided upon flight.

One Sunday, in the month of December, his devotions over, he dismissed all his servants and advised his last partisans to turn towards the rising sun.

After which, he lay for an hour with his wife, the better to take leave of her."

The very thing Frederick Augustus would do if war or revolution made us fugitives.

I never realized the diversity in our natures as much as I do now, when all my thoughts go out to another, when even connubial tendernesses seem like whip-strokes.

The further our souls draw apart, the more disgusting this forced intimacy, the prost.i.tution under the marriage vow, which I detest and abhor.

But what will I do? Shut my door to him? He would kick it in, or climb through the window. It's easier to submit to the violation of my person than to breaking of locks and furniture.

CHAPTER XLVII

LOVE'S INTERMEZZO

Bernhardt takes advantage of my day-dreams--My husband's indolent _gaucherie_--Violent love-making--Ninon who loved families, not men--Does Bernhardt really love me?

LOSCHWITZ, _April 10, 1901_.

Fortunately Bernhardt came for a few days to relieve the monotony of my alcove life _par le droit du plus fort_.

Tall stories of dissipation, indiscipline, scandal, had preceded the poor fellow. No doubt, his military superiors got orders to make his life as unhappy as they possibly can, and he retaliates.

The Prince told me that, at last, he had succeeded arranging for an audience with the King. His Majesty had denied himself to Bernhardt for months past. He managed the coveted boon only by the intervention of various high generals and the threat to appeal to the Kaiser.

The Royal House of Saxony, while compelled to recognize William as War-Lord, doesn't court his interference, or attempted interference, in matters military.

Flushed with this initial success and expecting lots of good things in the future, Bernhardt was bent upon having a good time. He drank with Frederick Augustus, made love to Lucretia and squeezed the chambermaids on his floor to his heart's content.

To me he was the most gallant of cousins and, glad to contribute to the happiness of the poor fellow, I gave him plenty of rope, perhaps too much.

On the second day of his stay we had a very merry dinner, having dispensed for the time with t.i.tled servants.

After dinner the three of us retired to the veranda. I was in a rocker, showing perhaps more of my ankles than was absolutely necessary.

Frederick Augustus was smoking dreamily. Like an animal he likes to sleep after he has gorged himself.

Bernhardt, with my permission, had thrown himself on a wicker lounge and was absorbing cigarettes at a killing rate. I bantered him on his laziness. But he only sighed.

"You wish that audience was past and forgotten," I asked.

"Pshaw, I'm thinking of something prettier than the King."

Remembering Bernhardt's chief weakness, I indulged in the old joke, "_Cherchez la femme_."

Bernhardt replied, with another succession of groans, "You are right, Louise; _parfaitement, cherchez la femme_."

"Egads," grunted Frederick Augustus, glad for an excuse to go to his room, or play a game of pinochle with his aides, "egads, if you indulge in intellectualities, I had better go. A full stomach and French conversation--whew!"

The Tisch was in Dresden; _Fraulein_ von Schoenberg with the children, Lucretia flirting somewhere at a neighboring country chalet. We were alone on the remote terrace and it was getting dark. Bernhardt sat up and looked at me with eyes of life-giving fire, but continued silent.

"You want me to think that you command the rays of the sun stolen by Prometheus?"

He answered not, but sought to burn the skin of my neck and bosom by those Prometheus rays.

Now, in the morning I got a note from Henry, and I had been thinking of the dear boy every minute. I was longing for him; my heart, my senses were crying for him.

I forgot Bernhardt; I forgot all around me. With my fancies focussed on my lover, I leaned back in my armchair, gazing at the rising moon. My word, at that moment I was lost to everything.

I half-awoke from my dream when I heard Bernhardt rise. A moment later I felt his eyes prowling over my body. Then a shadow darkened my face and Bernhardt said with a strange quaver in his voice:

"_Cherchez la femme._ You are the woman, Louise, you and none else."

And wild, forbidden kisses burned on my face, on my neck, on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Both hands claimed a lover's liberties.

I was taken completely unawares; in my mind of minds I was in the Countess's pavilion, receiving Henry's caresses. All sense of location had vanished. And, thinking of my lover, I clasped both arms about Bernhardt's neck and drew him to me. We kissed like mad. The love feast for Henry became Bernhardt's in the twinkling of an eye.