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 Crown Princess of this kingdom, will lower herself and respond to his demand for a rendezvous?