Part 35 (1/2)
The evening papers devoted columns to the little incident and Prince George had the great sorrow to hear the King say: ”A dare-devil, that Louise, but she did the right thing. By pretending confidence in the loyalty of the people, she successfully gulled them. The riot's back was broken when she showed a bold front.”
CHAPTER XLIV
THE NEW LOVER, AND ”I PLAY THE HUSSY FOR FAIR”
Who is that most exquisite _Vortanzer_?--A lovely boy--”Blush, good white paper”--I long for Henry--My eyes reflect love--”I must see you tonight. Arrange with Lucretia”--Sorry I ever loved a man before Henry--Poetry even--I try to get him an office at court--Afraid women will steal him.
PILLNITZ, _September 5, 1900_.
Dance at the royal summer residence. Concentrated _ennui_ as a rule, but a complete success this time.
I have seen Him,--capital ”H.” He is the one man for me.
I am happy; I am myself again. All sorrows are forgotten. I am ten years younger.
Love at first sight. I the aggressor. I must be getting very clever since I managed to hide it from hundreds of searching eyes, even from my entourage.
”Lucretia,” I whispered breathlessly to my confidante, ”find out the name of the _Vortanzer_, quick.”
The _Vortanzer_, at royal courts, is a sort of official master of the dance, who sets the pace for the company, combining the duties of master of ceremonies and of dancing master.
The more I looked at the _Vortanzer_, the more he enchanted me. Taller than any other man present, elegant, blonde, clean-shaven. Not an ounce of superfluous flesh, I judged. Might be the reincarnation of the _Duc_ de Richelieu, who seduced my three cousins d'Orleans.
His face is livid with white and carmine tints; his eyes glow with an irresistible charm. That figure of his! The elegance of the palm tree, both straight and flexible. And the infinity of grace as he waltzed that little Baroness around.
”Baron Bergen, of the Guards,” breathed Lucretia into my ear.
”My Master of Ceremony will command Baron Bergen at the end of this dance.”
When he stood before me, bowing and smiling, the idea that he was Richelieu reincarnated became almost a certainty with me.
Like Richelieu, his face has the refinement that we admire in women (I forgot to say that I became infatuated with him merely from seeing a back view of the man. When he turned around, I was lost).
While he chanted the usual compliments, my eyes hung upon his cherry lips, reveled in his white, strong teeth. The man I want. I say it without shame, without care.
Blush, good, white paper! I am giving an account of my feelings, and if they be impure, there's something wrong with nature.
Even as I write, I tremble with longing, with desire for Henry.
Ten days since we first met. It might have been this morning, so lively and overwhelming is the recollection. I am impatient for his kisses, for his blonde loveliness, for his whole self,--just as if we hadn't loved and kissed scarce an hour ago.
”My horse, Lucretia. We'll go for a canter. I must have air and plenty of it.”
PILLNITZ, _September 10, 1900_.