Dresden, April 26, 1897, Night.
We went to the ball as His Majesty's representatives, 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."