Frederick Augustus leaves tomorrow. Forever, I thought, when he put this question to me:
"You are keeping a Diary, Louise?"
I was frightened dumb. I stared at him.
"What's the matter," he laughed. "I'm not going to eat you." He didn't seem to be at all perturbed.
"How do you know I keep a Diary?" I stuttered.
Nonchalantly enough he made answer: "Your bag-of-bones Baroness told me. Full of forbidden things, I suppose, since you regard it a state secret. You often say that my education was sadly neglected. Maybe I can learn a thing or two from your scribblings. Let's look 'm over."
By this time I had regained my composure. "Naturally," I said, "a Diary records thoughts and things intended for the writer only, but if you choose to be ungentlemanly enough to wish to peruse those pages more sacred than private letters, I suppose I will have to submit."
Frederick Augustus changed the subject, but I felt instinctively that he was disappointed. Someone had played on his curiosity, and to go unsatisfied is not at all in this prince's line.
Of course, the someone was the Tisch, but how did she know? I will ask her as soon as Frederick Augustus is gone.