THE FAREWELL.
Prince Eugene, meanwhile, was on his way to visit the Duchess of
Orleans. She met him with unaffected cordiality, and gave him a
hearty welcome.
"Indeed," said she, extending both her hands, "I am rejoiced to see
you again. I made you many a visit of inquiry during your illness;
and it pained me deeply to hear from your grandmother that no effort
of those who love you had so far prevailed upon you to leave your
room. I am glad to see that your heart is returning to us, for you
know that I am foremost in the rank of your friends."
"I know it, gracious lady," said Eugene, feelingly, "and for that
reason I am here."
"And although you are pale, you are looking well. You have a brave
spirit, Eugene, and have met your sorrow like a man."
"Yes. Suffering has made a man of me, and he that has received its
chrism with courage has overcome grief. I have come to give your
highness a proof of my fortitude. I"--but he paused, and his face
grew of a deadly pallor, while a convulsive sigh was upheaved from
his bosom.
"Speak, poor boy," said the duchess, compassionately.
"I wanted to ask if your highness has news from the Marchioness de
Bonaletta?" resumed he, with an effort.
"Yes," replied the duchess, mournfully.
"Has she written to you?" was the hurried rejoinder.
The duchess shook her head. "She has not, and thereby I judge that
she is closely watched. For, if my darling were free to do so, she
would long ago have poured her sorrows into my heart. Sometimes I
feel her soft arms twining about my neck, and hear her voice, as, in
the simplicity of her trust, she said to me one day: 'Pray for me,
that I may never love, for if I should, I would forsake every thing
for the man of my choice--even yourself, my best friend.'"
"She spoke thus?" cried Eugene, brightening.
"She did; and, not long after, she glided up to me, and, giving me a
kiss, said: 'I have found him, I have found him--him whom I shall
love throughout all eternity.' 'Gracious Heavens!' I exclaimed, 'it
is not Prince Eugene!' whereupon she kissed me again, and said, 'But
it is he; and I shall love him forever!'"
"Ah! I thought I had been stronger!" murmured Eugene, his eyes
filling with tears. "I had armed myself against misfortune, but the
memory of her love unmans me."
"Poor Eugene! I have been thoughtlessly cruel: forgive me, for you
are the first one to whom I have dared, as yet, to mention her name.
Let me not probe your wounds further, but tell you at once what I
know. I have heard from Laura through the medium of her father only.
The day after her shameful immolation, he communicated his
daughter's marriage to the king; and, the evening after, gave a
grand ball in honor of the event. He excused her absence, and the
secrecy attending her wedding, by saying that her betrothed having
been suddenly summoned away, he had yielded to the solicitation of
the lovers, and had consented to have them married without
formality."
"Liar and deceiver!" cried Eugene, gnashing his teeth.
"Ay, indeed, liar and deceiver!" echoed the duchess. "And I had to
sit there, and hear him congratulated; and listen to the flattering
comments of his guests, every one of whom knew that not a word of
truth was being spoken on either side. Of course I had no choice
whether to absent myself or not; I was ordered to appear, and to
confirm the lie. And once or twice, when my face unconsciously
expressed my indignation, my husband was at hand to remind me that
my lady of the bedchamber had married with my consent and
approbation! The day after, Louvois distributed largesses among his
household, and bestowed princely sums upon the poor, all in honor of
the happy event! For a whole week I could neither eat nor sleep for
grief and anger. I can never recover from this blow. If you had
robbed me of Laura, I could have forgotten my own loss in her gain;
but to know that she is chained to the galley of an unhappy marriage
almost breaks my heart!"
"She is not chained to that galley," said Eugene; "the oath she took
was not to the man whom the world calls her husband--it was pledged
to me. But do not fear that I will lay claim to her, duchess. Far be
it from me to take one step that could endanger her safety, or
unsettle her convictions. If she considers the oath binding which
she took to one man, supposing him to be another, I will bear my
fate with resignation; but if she scorns the lie that calls her his
wife, she will find means to let me know it; and, let her summons
come when it may, I shall be ready to obey it. Let her heart seek
mine, and I will take care that renown shall tell her where to find
me."
"I feared as much," said the duchess. "I knew that you would not
remain at this false, corrupt court. Whither do you travel?"
"I shall follow my brother. Your highness knows that he was banished
for having married the girl whom he loved, whose only fault was her
obscure birth. He is in the service of the Emperor of Austria; and,
if his imperial majesty will accept of me, I, too, will join the
Austrian army."
"And you will live to replace the lost myrtles of your love with the
laurels of fame."
"God grant that you may be a true prophetess! And now, your
highness, I have one more favor to ask. May I visit the room in
which I saw her last?"
"Come. We can take a turn in the park, and enter the pavilion as if
by accident. Every thing is just as she left it."
Accompanied by two maids of honor, and followed at a distance by two
lackeys, they descended to the gardens. For a time they confined
their stroll to the principal walks; but when they had reached the
pathway that led to the pavilion, the duchess, turning to her maids
of honor, requested them to await her at the intersection of the
avenues, and continued her way with the prince. Not a word was
spoken on either side until they had ascended the steps leading to
the room where, in one short hour, Eugene had seen the birth and
death of his ephemeral happiness.
He opened the door; then, standing on the threshold, gazed
mournfully around him. Not an object in the room was missing. There,
in the embrasure of the window, stood her harp; there, on the table,
lay her books and drawings; and there, alas! hung the silver
chandelier whose solitary light was to have guided him to his
bridal. Every thing was there, as before, and yet nothing remained,
for she, who had been the soul of the habitation, had left it
forever!
And now, as his wandering gaze rested upon the arm-chair where,
kneeling at her feet, he had received the intoxicating confession of
her love, he started forward, and, burying his face in its cushions,
wept aloud.
The duchess, meanwhile, had remained outside on the perron. She
would not invade the sanctity of Eugene's grief by her presence, for
she felt that, in a moment of such supreme agony, the soul would be
alone with its Maker.
Presently she heard the door open and Eugene joined her on the
balcony. For a while he looked at her in silence; then his lips
began to move, and she caught these words, uttered almost inaudibly:
"I am about to go. Will you grant me one more request?"
"Yes--what is it?"
"You told me that, when she confided to you her love for me, she put
her arms around your neck, and kissed you. May I have that kiss from
your lips, dear duchess?"
Instead of a reply, Elizabeth embraced the poor youth. "God bless
you, Eugene!" said she, fondly. "Go forth, into the world to fight
the battle of life, and win it."