Richard is jealous—jealous of the men I did love and the regiments that public opinion give me credit for. He must needs think I have loins of steel.
He tells me he suffers agonies by what I confessed, and still more by what I hide. To see him thus unhappy gives me intense pleasure, for it shows that the boy loves me to distraction.
Midnight.
M. Giron was very cold and distant during the afternoon's lessons.
I had previously lunched with him at his studio and we were very gay then. I teased him unmercifully about "his royal demi-mondaine," as the masses painted me.
Frederick Augustus was very gallant at dinner and told me, before a table full of people, that he would take pleasure in sleeping with me tonight. I have too bad a conscience to deny myself to him. But I ran over to the opera for half an hour and ordered M. Giron to my box.
"I got over my vexation," he said,—"got over it because I reflected that you are the Princess Royal and that I would be a fool to take your love seriously. Henceforth I will regard it a passing adventure and let it go at that, for if I thought it the great passion of my life, I would despair, indeed."
"Find a closed cab," I whispered, my heart in my mouth; "I must see you alone. I will be at the northern side-exit in five minutes."
Cabby was ordered to drive slowly along unfrequented side streets. We lowered the curtains.
"So you don't love me?" I wailed. Burying my face on Richard's chest I cried as if my heart would break.