Dresden, January 10, 1901.
I am so happy, I am growing careless.
The Vitzthums, profiting by the fact that they are but recently married, prefer to travel in pairs, and always take the lead. Accordingly Henry and myself, incog. as far as my future subjects go, are free to indulge in occasional caresses and sweet nonsense-talk.
I was pouring honeyed words into Henry's ears the other morning when my wheel skidded on the wet pavement, and before he, or I, could save me, I was down on my back in the mud.
The fact that I was again enceinte, and the other fact that I was covered with dirt, ought to have prompted me to return to the palace at once, but how un-Louise-like the straight and sane course would have been.
I allowed myself to be wiped off by Henry; then mounted my wheel anew and raced after the Vitzthums.
Unfortunately, a reporter heard of the incident and, for the benefit of his pocket, made a column out of it.
A few hours after the story appeared in the evening paper, the palace was in an uproar. The King wasn't well enough to scold me, so he delegated that pleasant duty to Prince George. His Royal Highness promptly informed me that the "damned bicycling had to stop."