I awoke confused, ashamed of my weakness, trembling.
"I'll never see you again. Never," I said as if I meant it.
"Tomorrow, love," he repeated. And I ran and joined Lucretia.
When we were riding home I told Lucretia to draw the curtains, and fell upon her neck and told her all.
The good soul was nearly frightened to death and we cried a good deal.
Dresden, January 5, 1898.
I neglected my diary, I neglect everything, for I'm in love. What care I for the King, Prince George and the rest who are trying to make life miserable for me? I laugh 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: