Dresden, October 22, 1902.
He is dangerously ill. It may be weeks and months before the King recovers—if he recovers at all.
I feel like praying, crying, shouting with joy.
When Richard folded his arms about me this afternoon, I said to myself: "God doesn't begrudge me a lover as kind and good as Richard."
The King's illness has disorganized the espionage, my coming and going are no longer controlled. The body-groom brings in my letters as delivered at the gate.
In the school room, while the children are writing or studying, Richard and I find time to exchange kind words and even an occasional caress. When I "command" the tutor to my apartments, we need fear no surprise.
The utmost quiet prevails in the palace. The courtyard is sanded foot high and strewn with straw to deaden the sound of wheels and horses' hoofs. No more mounting of the guard with fife and drum.
I suggested that the children be sent to the Grosser Garten to play. The Tisch agreed with enthusiasm. This yields us—Richard and myself—two hours of love-making.
Dresden, October 25, 1902.