The King continues ill.
I went into a cheap jeweler's this afternoon and bought an inexpensive ring with a ruby no larger than a pin head. When I gave it to Richard, he grew red with joy.
Strange, he bought a similar ring for me. I shall never wear another ring in my life but Richard's. I pulled my rings off one after the other and threw them on the bed.
I kissed the larger ring and "wished" it on Richard's finger. He did the same with the ring intended for me. And we said, as with a common breath, "Our wedding."
Dresden, November 1, 1902.
A bulletin, by the King's physicians, holds out scant hopes for George's life.
I am watching the palace yard. The Archbishop of Dresden, attended by two court chaplains and a host of other clerics, is just mounting the stairs to administer the last rites of the Church. The next minute may see me Queen of Saxony. I may even be Queen now. I wish I had the effrontery to promise the lackey or official, announcing my enthronization, a handful of gold, as George did, when King Albert was dying.
Even so, I have risen immeasurably in everybody's esteem. The sweet family knows me again. Johann George, Mathilde, Isabelle and Max are kotowing to me. Bernhardt sent me a telegram of condolence—condolence! He is a humorist, that boy.
Minister of the Royal House, Baron Seydwitz, called twice. The Royal Adjutant, General von Carlowitz, spoke of the possibility of giving Bernhardt a command in Dresden. Von Baumann says it was the President of the Police who insisted upon Lucretia's hasty departure. If he, Baumann, had his way, my maid of honor would have got off with a warning.