FLIRTATION DEVELOPS INTO LOVE

DRESDEN, April 6, Night, 1897.

The talk with Johann George had excited me so, I wanted a diversion. Frederick Augustus sent word that he wouldn’t be home for dinner. Hence, I decided to go to the theatre after an absence of months. It was after six when I telephoned that I would occupy my box at the Royal Opera. If I should see Him there, in the absence of announcements in the newspapers!

He was there. In his usual seat. I won’t rest until I find out how he manages to get wind of my theatrical ventures at such short notice. The Opera, Faust, had been in progress for ten minutes when I arrived. I espied him at once, but kept well behind the curtains of the box for a second or two. Then, suddenly, I dropped into the gilded armchair and the very same moment our eyes met.

I am sure he expected me; he must have known I was near when I entered the house. To his ears the hundred and one melodies of Gounod’s masterpiece were naught compared with the music of my silken skirts.

He was so overcome, he forgot his diplomacy. Twice he pressed his right hand to his heart, then bowed his head in a mute salute.

Fortunately the house was dark at the time and the audience, unacquainted with my visit, paid strict attention to the stage. No one but him saw my heart leap within me and the blood mount to my cheeks. Presently his diplomatic tact got the upper hand again, and he fixed his eyes on the score. That afforded me the chance to take a pictorial inventory of my lover-at-a-distance. I used my opera-glasses unmercifully.

He’s a fine looking man if he were a woman he would be hailed a beauty. His forehead is a dream of loveliness; his mouth a promise of a thousand sweet kisses.

If this man wants me, I mean if he wants me badly, our love won’t be any painted business, I assure you.

DRESDEN, April 25, 1897.

Ball at the Roumanian Embassy. Royal command to attend.

As if it needed a command to throw me into the arms of Bielsk.