"Of course I do. The very day I return to Dresden I will take a look at your girl."
"My—what?" gasped Max.
"Your Theresa—Theresa Mayer. I understand she made a great hit in the Geisha, and everybody approves of your taste, Max."
Max turned red, then green, and I thought to myself what a fool I was. He's a favorite with the King and Queen, and my father-in-law believes every word he says.
Castle Wachwitz, March 10, 1893.
Queen Carola is a good soul though she doesn't dare call her soul her own. I never heard her say "peep" in the presence of his Majesty. She looks forlorn and frightened when King Albert is around.
I like her better since I am a mother, for she loves baby. Yes, though she is a Queen, I saw her actually smile at the child once or twice.
Poor woman, the point of her nose is always red, and, like Father-in-law George, she believes weeping willow the only fit emblem for royalty. The look of the whipped dog is always in her weak eyes.
I am too young and—they do say—too frivolous to stand so much mopishness. These mustard-pots, sedate, grave, wan and long-faced, make me mad. I don't know what to say,—all I can do is try to hide my "un-princess-like" cheerfulness when they are around.