Loschwitz, May 2, 1901.
"Have you ever seen my Diary?" I asked the Tisch this morning.
"Never, Your Imperial Highness."
"Then how do you know I keep a Diary?"
"I surmised it because I saw Your Imperial Highness write repeatedly in one and the same book." The hussy affected a humble tone, but the note of triumph and hatred underlying the creature's meekness did not escape me.
"And the mere surmise prompted you to blab to my husband, arouse his suspicions?"
"For Heaven's sake," cried my Grand Mistress, "I had no idea that His Royal Highness didn't know about the Diary. Secrets between the Prince-Royal and Your Imperial Highness—how dare I pre-suppose such a state of things? His Royal Highness casually asked how the Crown Princess killed time in Loschwitz. I mentioned riding, driving, bicycling, writing letters, writing in the Diary——"
My fingers itched to slap her lying face, Grand-Duchess of Tuscany fashion, but I kept my temper.
"Listen to me," I said. "While you have secret instructions to play the serpent in my household and to betray, for dirty money, your mistress of the Blood Imperial, your duties as a spy are confined to my going and coming, to my exterior conduct, to my visits outside the palace, to my friendships, perhaps.
"They cannot possibly encompass my thoughts. And my Diary is the repository of my thoughts—thoughts that must not be defiled by your favor-seeking curiosity. Be warned. The next time you dare act the burglar—I say burglar—I will kick you out of doors like a thieving lackey."