"With your majesty's permission, I am of the opinion that the entire

army be concentrated in an attack upon Belgrade. To divide our

forces will enfeeble them doubly; their numbers would be

inconsiderable, and their command by one chief, impossible. Division

is weakness--concentration is strength. Belgrade is our goal, and to

Belgrade let us march at once. Let us possess the key of Turkey, and

then we can make conditions with the Sultan."

"I honor your frankness, prince," replied the emperor. "I should

respect it, were my opinion on the subject adverse to yours. But it

is not. My lords, I regret that we are not all of one mind; but I

must decide in favor of the campaign as proposed by Field-Marshal

Eugene of Savoy. I cannot consent to have the army crippled by

division; we must put forth all our strength, if we are to lay siege

to Belgrade, and to this one end let our warlike preparations be

directed."

"Your majesty's will is law," replied Count von Starhemberg. "It

only remains for you to name the one to whom the chief command of

the Austrian forces is to be intrusted."

"It is to be intrusted to him who has commanded it with such signal

ability--to the Duke of Lorraine, my lord.--And now, gentlemen,"

added the emperor, rising, "the sitting is ended."

"Your majesty," interposed Louis of Baden, "I crave a few moments

more."

The emperor gave consent, and the young prince came forward and

spoke.

"Your majesty, the chief command of the army being given to the Duke

of Lorraine, it follows that neither the Elector of Bavaria nor I

have any independent position; we are to obey the orders of the Duke

of Lorraine. This being the case, Max Emmanuel has commissioned me

to announce with the utmost respect that it does not become a

reigning prince to be the instrument of any other man's will. His

subjects have already complained of the subordinate rank of their

sovereign, and he cannot allow their sense of honor to be wounded by

a renewal of such affront. He therefore tenders his resignation. He

will withdraw the Bavarian troops, and take no part in your

majesty's projected campaign against the Turks."

"We shall take time to consider the subject," replied Leopold, in a

tone of unconcern, "and will speak with the elector in person. Have

you anything else to say?"

"Yes, your majesty." said Louis. "I, also, consider it beneath my

dignity to serve under a foreign prince, and I owe it to my own

self-respect to act with the elector, and to tender my resignation."

The emperor looked searchingly at the troubled countenance of the

margrave, who blushed beneath his gaze, and cast down his eyes.

"And you, too, would abandon your colors?" asked Leopold.

The eyes of the margrave flashed fire. "I false to my colors!"

exclaimed he.

"You," repeated the emperor. "With your rank, as Margrave of Baden,

I have nothing to do. You are an officer in my army, and have taken

the oath of allegiance to me, as your lord and emperor. I ask you if

you deem it honorable to desert your flag on the eve of a campaign?

Do we not call such conduct by the name of cowardice?"

"Your majesty," cried Louis, vehemently, "I a--!"

"I do not speak of you," interrupted Leopold, calmly. "I ask you,

if, at the moment of engaging the enemy, one of your ablest officers

were to come to you with the proposition you have just made to me,

by what word would you characterize the act?"

"Your majesty--I--I--" stammered the margrave.

"You cannot answer, my lord, but I will answer for you. You would

say to such a man, 'He who deserts his post in the hour of danger is

a coward.' But you, Margrave of Baden, are a man of honor, and

therefore you will withhold your vaulting ambition. You will not

strive with the destiny which makes Charles of Lorraine an older and

more experienced, but not a braver man than you; but you will return

to your duty, and emulate his greatness. Ambition is inseparable

from valor; but it must be checked by reason, or it degenerates into

envy. What would you think of a crown prince who should feel

humiliated at his subordinate rank when compared with that of his

father? When you entered my service, the Duke of Lorraine was

already general-in-chief of the armies of Austria; and, as he has

always led them to victory, it would be in the highest degree unjust

to supersede him by another. He who would command, must first learn

to obey. Margrave of Baden, I cannot accept your resignation."

"I will do my duty," replied Louis, bowing low before the emperor's

reproof. "I submit myself to your majesty's decision, and remain."

"Say, rather," returned Leopold, smiling affectionately upon the

young prince, "say rather that you go, for the campaign must open at

once. Be diligent, Count von Starhemberg; inaugurate your

preparations this very day; and you, Field-Marshal Prince of Savoy,

hasten to Innspruck, to communicate to the Duke of Lorraine the

result of our council of war."

"I thank your majesty," replied Eugene, "for this gracious command.

May I be permitted to retire, and make my preparations to leave?"

The emperor bowed his head, and addressed the Margrave of Baden. "As

there is no such urgency attending the movements of your highness, I

will be happy to consider you as my guest, and shall expect the

pleasure of your company at the opera.--You also, gentlemen," added

he to the other members of the war department. "The empress is

already in the theatre, awaiting our coming."

And with these words, the emperor, followed by his councillors, left

the room. Without, the court was waiting to accompany him; and, when

the lord-chamberlain had announced to the world that his majesty the

emperor was about to visit the opera, the long, brilliant cortege

set itself in motion.

CHAPTER II.

THE DUMB MUSIC.

The court entered the theatre. The emperor's suite took possession

of the boxes on either side of the one appropriated to the imperial

family, while Leopold, followed by Prince Eugene, whom he delighted

to honor, entered the imperial box.

"I wish to present our new field-marshal to the empress," said he to

his courtiers.

The empress was seated in one corner of the box, busily engaged with

a piece of embroidery. She was so absorbed in the mysteries of silk

and golden stitching, that she scarcely remarked the entrance of the

court. For a moment her eyes met those of the emperor, to whom she

bowed and smiled; then, bending her head again, she resumed her

work.

The emperor took a seat by her, and watched her flying fingers with

affectionate interest. "Your majesty is unusually industrious to-

day," said he, smiling, and touching the embroidery.

"I was merely beguiling the hour of expectation which has passed

away with your majesty's presence, by completing a flower on this

altar-cloth, intended for the chapel of the blessed Eleanor, my

namesake."

"The blessed Eleanor must excuse you to-day if I claim your presence

here," replied the emperor. "And let me implore you for a while to

fold those busy hands, and give your attention to the music which

has been gotten up for your especial gratification."

The empress quietly folded her work, and rose from her tabouret.

"Allow me to present to your majesty the youngest field-marshal in

the army," said Leopold, signing to Eugene to advance.

"I congratulate your highness," replied the empress, while Eugene

knelt and kissed her hand. "Are you, indeed, so very young, prince?"

"No, your majesty," said he, sadly. "I am so old, that I wonder my

hair is not gray."

"Indeed! How old are you, then?"

"Your majesty, I am forty-six years of age," replied Eugene.

"Why, how can you say such a thing," exclaimed Leopold, "when

everybody knows you to be just twenty-three?"

"Your majesty, are not the years of active service reckoned by the

soldier as double?"

"Yes, assuredly, my young field-marshal."

"Then, my liege, I am forty-six years of age, for my life has been

one long war with troubles and trials."

The empress looked sympathizingly into the deep, sad eyes of the

young prince, and saw that he spoke the truth.

"Have you then had many sorrows?" asked she, gently.

"Ay, your majesty; I have struggled and suffered since childhood,

for I have ever been a soldier of misfortune."

"But you are no longer one," said Leopold, laying his hand upon

Eugene's shoulder; "you have taken the oath of allegiance to

Austria, and misfortune has now no claim upon you."

Eugene looked up, and the face of the emperor was beaming with

kindness. "Whatever betide, my liege," returned he, "I am yours for

life, and Austria is my land of adoption."

"I am glad to hear it; and now there is but one thing wanting to

make you a subject after my own heart. You must marry an Austrian

wife that shall make you as happy a husband as myself, and transform

earth into heaven, as her majesty has done for me. It is in

commemoration of my own happiness that I have chosen the opera of

'Il Porno d'Oro' to celebrate the empress's festival. 'Il Porno

d'Oro'--that is, a happy union--the golden apple of paradise."

And the emperor, enchanted to have turned the conversation to a

subject which was to him of supreme interest, offered his arm to the

empress, and conducted her to the front of the box.

As soon as their majesties appeared, the spectators rose and cheered

them enthusiastically. The imperial pair took their seats, and

behind them stood Prince Eugene, the only other occupant of the box.

The emperor now waved his hand as a signal to the marshal of the

household, who, raising his gilded staff, conveyed the imperial

command to the leader of the orchestra. "His majesty is graciously

pleased that the opera shall commence," cried the lord-chamberlain.

The leader bowed to the emperor, and took his place, which was

conspicuously raised above that of the other musicians.

"His majesty is graciously pleased to allow all present to be

seated," was the second cry of the emperor's mouth-piece. And now

was heard a rustling of ladies' silks, and of cavaliers' velvets,

and the grateful spectators took their seats, while the emperor,

with a look of extreme satisfaction, opened the score of the Porno

d'Oro, laid it on the ledge of the box, and began to hum the

overture.

"Have you your text-book?" asked he of the empress. "I ordered one

for your especial use; a synopsis of the opera, with the principal

airs only. I hope that you received it. This one is too heavy for

you."

The empress pointed to a purple-velvet book at her side, and

slightly bowed her head.

Leopold nodded, much pleased, and then gave his attention to the

stage.

The audience breathlessly awaited the opening. The leader flourished

his baton. The violins raised their bows, the haut-boys and horns

were clapped to the mouths of their respective performers, bass-

viols were seized, harps were clutched, and drumsticks were raised

in the air.

Nevertheless, not a sound was heard from the orchestra!

The emperor looked up from his score, and there, to be sure, was the

leader, his baton going from left to right--there were the violins

busy with their bows; the wind instruments were blowing for dear

life; the harpists were tugging at their strings; the drumsticks

were going with all their might--and not a sound! The musicians

might just as well have been so many phantoms.

The emperor, in his bewilderment, turned to the empress, who was so

profoundly engaged with her score, that she murmured the words

thereof half aloud.

"Do you hear the music?" asked her husband.

She started a little, and, blushing deeply, looked very much

confused. "Yes, yes," replied she, absently; "it is very fine."

"I must then have lost my hearing," said Leopold; "for I hear

nothing." And a second time ho glanced at the orchestra, where the

music was proceeding with the utmost energy.

"I cannot unriddle the mystery," thought the emperor, "for the

empress hears the music and pronounces it fine. Prince Eugene,"

added he, aloud, "Do YOU hear any thing?"

"Not a sound, your majesty."

The emperor, looking very much relieved, beckoned to the lord-

chamberlain, and sent him to inquire into the matter.

The audience, meanwhile, were quite as astounded as their sovereign.

However, after a time they began to whisper and smile; and finally,

as the drummer performed an extra flourish with his drumsticks, a

voice was heard to cry out, "Bravo! bravo!"

This was the signal for a general burst of laughter, which the

marshal of the household, though he shook his baton furiously, was

impotent to quell. While the merriment was at its height the lord-

chamberlain returned, and his countenance was expressive of extreme

indignation.

Leopold, who for a moment had forgotten his Spanish formality, and

had retired to the back of the box, advanced eagerly to meet him.

"What says the leader?" asked he, hastily.

"The leader, your majesty, is in despair, and is as much at a loss

to account for the eccentricity of his orchestra as the audience

themselves. He says that the last rehearsal was perfectly

satisfactory."

"Go, then, to the musicians. See the first violin, Baron von

Rietmann, and tell him that the overture must commence."

The lord-chamberlain went off on his mission, while Leopold, in

undisguised impatience, stood at the door of his box waiting. The

empress, apparently not cognizant of any thing around her, kept her

eyes steadfastly riveted on her book. Prince Eugene had risen, and

stood behind the emperor.

"What think you of this opera comique?" asked Leopold.

"It is past my comprehension, your majesty. I cannot conceive how

they presume to--"

The emperor suddenly interrupted him. "I begin to apprehend the

difficulty," said he, laughing. "My musicians are all of high rank,

and, as noblemen and artistes, they have a twofold pride. They know

perfectly well that I cannot do without them, and they occasionally

take advantage of the fact to annoy me. They have some cause of

complaint, I confess, and--Ah! What says Baron Rietmann?"

"My liege,"--replied the chamberlain, pale and breathless.

"Do not look so terrified," said Leopold; "what says the baron?"

"Your majesty, I am ashamed to be the bearer of his message," sighed

the chamberlain. "He says their instruments will be dumb until the

arrears due the orchestra for the last three months are paid!"

At this the emperor burst into an audible fit of laughter; then,

remembering himself, he glanced anxiously at his impassible empress,

to see if she had overheard him. No; she was perfectly unconscious

of any thing but her book.

"Rietmann is a bold fellow," said Leopold at length, "but he is a

great artiste, and I forgive his presumption. He is quite correct,

however, as regards the orchestra. The imperial treasury has been

drained for the army, and nothing remains for my musicians."

"Your majesty must order the army to refill the treasury at the

expense of the enemy," said Eugene, with a smile. "It is said that

the grand-vizier has immense treasures in Belgrade."

"Capture them all, field-marshal, for we are sorely in need of them.

But let us try first to compromise with these musical rebels here.--

Go, my lord-chamberlain, to Baron Rietmann, and say that the arrears

due the orchestra shall be paid to-morrow, and thereunto I pledge my

imperial word.--Now, Prince Eugene, let us resume our seats. I

presume that my golden promises will restore the dumb to speech."

And so they did. Scarcely had the lord-chamberlain whispered the

emperor's dulcet words into the baron's ear, before a signal passed

between the musicians, and the overture began. [Footnote: This scene

is historical.--See "Life and Deeds of Leopold the Great."]

The scenic effect of the opera was beautiful. The fountains were of

real water, and graceful naiads disported within their marble

basins; and there was lightning and thunder; there were

transformations of men into animals, and finally, there was a golden

apple which fructified into a bewitching fairy. She sang so

delightfully that the emperor, in his enthusiasm, let fall his

score, and applauded with all his might.

The fairy was encored, and as she was about to repeat her aria, the

emperor turned to the empress and requested leave to be allowed the

use of her text-book for a few minutes. In his eagerness he did not

remark her exceeding confusion; but as, taking the book from her

hands, he gave a glance at its pages, lie uttered an exclamation of

surprise.

And no wonder! For, instead of an opera-score, he found a prayer-

book!

"I hope your majesty will excuse me," stammered the empress. "In

absence of mind, I brought my prayer-book instead of the score."

"And your majesty was praying for us," replied Leopold, half-vexed,

half-amused. "But in our sinful way, we, too, are praying; for

surely music such as this is both prayer and praise; and He who

taught the nightingale her song, must surely rejoice to hear from

human tongues the strains which He has revealed to inspired human

genius!"

CHAPTER III.

THE RETIREMENT OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.

The imperial army, in five divisions, had marched to the Turkish

frontier. They had traversed Transylvania, taking, on their way, the

fortresses of Grosswardein, Sziget, and Canischa; and, farther on

their victorious march, Peterwardein and Illock.

The Turks had pursued their usual mode of vengeful retreat, tracing

their march with fire and blood, and, wheresoever they were forced

to surrender, leaving to the victors naught but the smouldering

ruins of the strongholds from which they had been driven.

The imperialists were eager to invest Belgrade; but their general-

in-chief was ill; and for several days they had watched in vain to

see the hangings of his tent drawn aside, and hear the welcome order

to march.

Finally a courier arrived from Vienna, and it was rumored that

instructions had been received to advance. The troops were all the

more hopeful that, immediately after the dismissal of the courier,

the Duke of Lorraine had sent a messenger to Field-Marshal the

Prince of Savoy, requesting his presence at headquarters.

The prince obeyed the summons without delay, and, entering the tent,

found the adjutant and the duke's physician, sitting together,

discoursing mournfully to each other of the illness of the beloved

commander.

"I fear," said the surgeon, "that his highness is attacked with

nervous fever; his symptoms indicate it. He passed a restless night,

and is suffering from intense headache. He must not be excited; he

can therefore see nobody."

"But he has sent for me," objected Eugene.

The surgeon shook his head. "Your highness has heard my opinion,

and, if you approach him, it must be on your own responsibility."

"I am a soldier," replied Eugene, smiling, "and must obey orders. I

have been sent for by the general, and must at least be announced."

At this moment the hangings of the inner tent were drawn aside, and

Martin, the duke's old valet, came forward.

"Am I wanted?" asked the surgeon.

"No, sir," replied Martin. "His excellency bade me see if the--Ah!

There he is! Your highness, the duke begs your presence at once, and

requests these gentlemen to leave the tent until his conference with

your highness is at an end. He is very nervous, and the least

rustling affects his head."

"Just as I feared," sighed the surgeon. "Martin, in one hour I shall

return, to change the cold compress."

Eugene entered the sleeping apartment of the duke, and his pleasure

at being admitted to see his commander, was changed into anxiety,

when he beheld the pale, careworn face of the duke, and saw his head

enveloped in bandages.

"Martin, have they left the tent?" inquired he, languidly.

"Yes, your highness; and I shall remain and keep watch that no one

may enter."

"Do it, good Martin, for indeed I do not wish to be disturbed."

Martin disappeared, and the duke, removing his bandages, rose from

the couch, and sank into an arm chair.

"We are alone, and I may as well dispense with all this; it is

needless."

"Then, your highness, God be thanked, is not sick?" exclaimed

Eugene.

"Yes, I am sick," replied the duke, sadly, "but not in the sense in

which my physician supposes. A malady of the mind is not to be cured

by compresses."

"Have you bad news?" asked Eugene, with tender sympathy.

"Ah, yes," sighed the duke. "Bad news for him who, loving his

fatherland more than self, is withheld from willing sacrifice by the

unworthy strivings of ambition with duty. But of that anon. I have

sent for you to confer of the affairs of the Austrian army; for I

know that I can count upon your sincerity, and trust to your

discretion."

"Your highness knows how unspeakable is the love I bear you; you

well know that it is the aim of my life to imitate, though I may

never hope to rival, your greatness."

"I thank you for your honest affection, dear Eugene," replied the

duke, looking fondly into the speaking face of his youthful

worshipper. "I thank God that you are here, to complete what I am

forced to leave unfinished."

"Your highness would forsake Austria!" cried Eugene, alarmed.

"Ask rather, my son, whether Austria has not forsaken me," was the

mournful reply. "It is of this that I would speak with you. You are

the only officer in the army that does not bear me ill-will; and to

your sound and impartial judgment I am about to submit the question

of my resignation."

"Resignation!"

"Yes; but first let us talk of the campaign which is before us. You

know that its main object is the capture of Belgrade."

Eugene bowed assent.

The duke laid his finger on a topographical chart that lay on a

table close by. "Here is the key which opens the door to Turkey.

Unless we obtain this key, our past victories are all without

significance, and for years we have been pouring out Christian blood

in vain."

"But we shall take Belgrade," cried Eugene. "We have sixty-six

thousand well-armed men, all eager for the fray."

"And the Turks have one hundred and fifty thousand."

"But they are not a consolidated army, and we must prevent them from

uniting their forces."

"True; and for this end I have sent Prince Louis of Baden to Bosnia

with six thousand men, that he may keep them busy at Gradiska. But

the long march has exhausted his troops, and he has written to ask

for re-enforcements. I must grant them; and to-morrow I send him

four thousand men. How many does that leave us?"

"About fifty thousand, general."

"Suppose the enemy oppose fifty thousand to our ten, in Bosnia,

there still remain to him twice as many as we can oppose to him."

"Yes; but they are not commanded by a Duke of Lorraine," exclaimed

Eugene, with enthusiasm. "A great general outweighs the disparity of

numbers."

A sad smile played about the duke's features. "I am not

indispensable to Austria's success," said he. "My men will fight as

bravely under another commander as they have done under me; but I do

not say that I relinquish them to that other without a pang."

"Has such a question been raised?" asked Eugene, sadly.

"You are too close an observer not to have suspected it. Do you

remember my telling you that I would be obliged to succumb to the

hatred of my enemies?"

"Yes, your highness."

"I did not overrate their influence. Even those who hate each other

forget their hatred, to persecute me. And yet I have never done them

the least wrong. There is Prince Louis of Baden--I have shown him

every mark of distinction in my power, and yet he hates me."

"Too true," sighed Eugene. "And I confess that since I have known

it, I love him less."

"You are wrong. He is merely an echo of his uncle, who has some

right to hate me, for to me he owes the loss of his place as

president of the war department. He was not fit for the office, and

I convinced the emperor of his incapacity. This, I allow, to be a

ground of dislike. But there is another distinguished officer, too,

that hates me. What have I done to Max Emmanuel?"

"You have not only given him every opportunity to gain renown, but

often have I admired your magnanimity when he has conspicuously

paraded his ill-will."

"I thank you for that avowal, Eugene; for well I know how

unwillingly you blame the elector. And he deserves your friendship,

for he loves you sincerely. He has a noble heart, although I have

not been able to win it; he is a fearless hero, and a great military

chieftain. It is a pity that we were contemporaries. Were I to die

to-day, no man would be louder in my praise than he; but I live, and

he cannot brook a rival."

"Nay, your highness, he is not so presuming as to suppose that he is

worthy to supplant you."

"He is about to supplant me, Eugene. I forgive him; for he is young,

ambitious, and conscious of his own genius, which, while I enjoy the

chief command, is hampered by a subordinate position. He is just as

capable as myself; but I do not feel that he is my superior, and

therefore it pains me to be obliged to resign my command to him."

"You do not think of such a thing! What would be the effect of your

retirement upon the troops?"

"They would cry out, as the Frenchmen do, 'Le roi est mort, vive le

roi!' I am not self-deceived as to the ephemeral nature of military

popularity. It is always directed toward an object present and

tangible, and speedily consoles itself for the loss of one idol by

replacing it with another. But now, listen to me. A courier has just

arrived from Vienna. The president of the war department declares

himself unable to put any more troops in the field; he has neither

money nor munition more. The emperor writes under his own hand that

he has several times called upon the Elector of Bavaria to join his

command, and place himself at the head of his Bavarians."

"And he has refused!" cried Eugene.

"No. He has accepted, but conditionally only. Can you guess his

conditions?"

Eugene turned pale and stammered: "Your highness, I cannot--I hope

that I do not--"

"Well, I see that you have guessed. He demands the chief command of

the entire army."

"But if the emperor, as a matter of course, refuses this

unreasonable and presumptuous demand?"

"Then he withdraws his troops. Peace--peace! I know that you love

the elector: let us not discuss his acts, but consider their

bearings upon the welfare of Austria. For months the emperor has

been trying to arrange matters, but all in vain. Count Strattmann,

the last envoy, who had a long personal interview with Max, says

that he will not retreat from his exactions. He assumes the chief

command, or his troops are this day ordered to Bavaria."

"The emperor will never yield. He ought not to yield."

"The decision of this difficulty has been left with me. Max is close

at hand, in Essek, awaiting my determination. And now, Eugene, what

answer shall I send him?"

"There is but one. The Austrian army cannot spare the Duke of

Lorraine."

"But still less can it spare the Bavarian troops. How many men did

you say that we counted in all?"

"Fifty thousand, your highness."

"And of these, how many are from Bavaria?"

"Eight thousand infantry," said Eugene, with a sigh.

"And four thousand cavalry. In all, twelve thousand; and let us do

him justice: the troops of the elector are an admirably disciplined

and efficient body of men. Now, if we lose this number, our forces

are reduced to thirty-eight thousand. Can we confront a hundred

thousand Turks with such a handful?"

Eugene spoke not a word. His face was bent over the chart, but it

was easy to see that he was powerfully agitated. After a long

silence, the duke pointed with his finger to the spot on the map

which the prince had apparently been examining.

"This tear is my answer," said he. "We cannot spare the Bavarians."

"Too true," murmured Eugene, "too true."

"Then the general must sacrifice his ambition to the national

welfare; he must retire from his command."

"Oh, no! Not yet. Let ME go to the elector. We are intimate friends,

and I will persuade him to retract his unrighteous exactions."

"You will not succeed. Moreover, I would not accept the sacrifice.

Could we have done without his troops, I would joyfully have

retained my command; but we have no right to ask of Max Emmanuel,

who cannot be spared, to yield to me, who can be spared. I repeat

it, then: I accept no sacrifice from the elector, nor will I be

outdone by any man in magnanimity. The wound smarts, I am not

ashamed to confess it; but my duty is too clear before me for

hesitation; and in its fulfilment I have great consolation. To you,

dear Eugene, this hour will afford a valuable lesson."

"Ay, indeed," replied Eugene. "It will teach me high resolve and

holy resignation. If I ever should be tempted to envy the greatness

of a rival, I will remember the day on which my friend's mad

ambition deprived an army of its great and renowned commander."

"You are not apt to have rivals, Eugene, for you will surpass all

your contemporaries in military genius. As for me, I retire, but I

shall probably find other opportunities of using my sword for

Austria. If--as God grant!--we should be victorious again this year,

the King of France will show his teeth, and perhaps the laurels I

have lost on the Save I may recover on the Rhine. And now, son of my

heart, farewell! God be with you, now and evermore!"

He embraced Eugene with affection, and, returning to the table, rang

for Martin. The old man answered the summons, whereupon the duke

began at once to give orders for his departure.

"Say to the surgeon that my head is worse, and that I crave his

attendance. Then see the imperial couriers, and send them hither."

"The surgeon is here," said that individual, coming forward. "But

what do I see? Your highness has risen?"

"Yes, doctor, for I am too ill to remain in camp any longer, and we

must start to-day for Innspruck, where you will find me an altered

man, and the most submissive of patients."

"Thank Heaven!" replied the surgeon, "for your highness needs rest."

"I will take as much as is needful," said the duke. "And now," added

he to Eugene, "will you do me a last favor?"

"What can I do for your highness?"

"Seat yourself at my escritoire, and write what I shall dictate."

Eugene took up his pen and wrote:

"INSTRUCTIONS FOR MY OFFICERS:"

"My health being too weak to allow of my remaining any longer in

active service, I am compelled to resign the command of the imperial

armies to another. My successor, his highness the Elector of

Bavaria, is at Essek, and will he with the army in a few hours.

Until his arrival, I appoint Field-Marshal Count Caprara my

representative. God protect the emperor and his brave army!"

"Thank you, prince," added the duke. "Now be so good as to reach me

your pen, that I may sign my name."

When his signature had been appended to this short proclamation, the

duke, sighing heavily, said, "Eugene, do you know what I have just

signed? My death-warrant!"

"Oh, my general!"

"Hush! Here come the couriers."

The duke bade them welcome, adding, "Did his imperial majesty charge

you with any letter subject to my order?"

"Yes, your highness. We have one to the Elector of Bavaria, which,

according as your highness commanded, was to be delivered to the

elector, or returned to his majesty."

"Hasten to Essek, and deliver it to the elector.--And you, baron,"

said he, addressing the other courier, "return to Vienna, and say to

the emperor that, as you were leaving the camp, I was departing for

Innspruck; and, that you may be able to speak the truth literally,

you shall see me go. If I mistake not, Martin is coming to say that

my travelling-carriage awaits me."

"Yes, your highness, we wait for nothing but your commands."

"Then let us depart. Doctor, you will bear me company as far as

Innspruck, will you not? Give me your arm, Prince Eugene."

With these words, he put his arm around the prince's neck, and,

supporting himself on that slender frame, the duke, who was a man of

tall stature, left his tent, and walked slowly to the carriage.

Behind him, in solemn silence, came the physician and the two

couriers. At the door of the chariot he let his arm glide away from

Eugene's neck, gave him one last fond look, one last friendly

pressure, and then was gone!

The prince followed him with his eyes, until the chariot had

disappeared from view. Then, sad and solitary, he returned to his

own tent.

"And thus I am doomed to lose all that I love!" was his bitter

reflection. "The Duke of Lorraine--Laura!--Oh, my Laura, how light

to me were other losses, wert thou but here to smile me to

forgetfulness!"

And, with his head bowed down between his hands, Eugene forgot all

time, to dream of his love. For several hours he sat thus--his

spirit all unconscious of the day, the hour, the place--when

suddenly he was aroused from his reverie by a familiar voice.

"Eugene," cried Max Emmanuel, "where are you? The whole army is

shouting me a welcome, and my friend has no greeting for me! He

waits until I force myself into his tent to claim his

congratulations!"

"I was not aware that your highness had arrived. I--I--"

"And is this my welcome!" cried the elector, disappointed. "Are you

displeased with me for superseding your master and hero?"

"Yes, proud, ambitious Max, I am grieved; for you are right, he was

my master and my hero."

"Proud, ambitious, am I? Yes, I acknowledge it, and acknowledge it

without shame. The day for hero-worship has passed away, and that of

heroic action has dawned for both of us. Forgive me if I have

usurped the place of your demi-god; and, in his stead, accept your

friend and companion-in-arms. Think of the pledge we made before

Buda, and refuse me not the advantage of your support. Without you.

I cannot capture Belgrade; with you, I feel that I am invincible.

Will you not sustain me?"

"I will, dear Max, and, sorely though you have grieved me, I bid you

welcome."

CHAPTER IV.

THE FALL OF BELGRADE.

Two months had passed away since Max Emmanuel assumed command of the

imperial army. During this time the besiegers had dug trenches and

thrown up embankments; had demolished fortifications, and thrown

bridges across the Save, with a view to attacking the Turks both in

front and rear. The latter had been obliged to look on while all

this had been progressing, impotent, in spite of their valor, to

stop proceedings. Of course they had thrown bombs and sprung mines

under the feet of their enemies, but nothing dismayed the Austrians,

and finally they were prepared to assault the city.

The duke had twice called upon Achmed Pacha to surrender. The first

summons, sent by a Turkish prisoner, was laconically answered by the

gibbeting of the unfortunate messenger within sight of the Austrian

camp. To the second, Achmed Pasha replied by a thousand greetings to

the brave Duke of Lorraine; adding that the siege would terminate as

it pleased God.

"And we are here to carry out His will," observed the duke,

laughing. "The miners must cease their work neither day nor night;

they may be relieved, but must not stop. Tell them that if they work

me a passage to the fortress by the 16th of September, I will give

to each one of them from this day forward a gratuity of two ducats a

day."

On the 15th of September the Turkish commander was a third time

summoned to surrender. This last summons was treated with

contemptuous silence. It had been delivered to Achmed Pacha, while,

accompanied by his Janizaries, he was on his way to the mosque. When

he had finished its perusal he addressed two of his officers that

were walking on either side of him.

"What answer would you advise me to make to the Christian commander-

in-chief?" asked he of the first. "In the name of Allah and the

Prophet, I call upon you to speak according to your convictions."

The two Janizaries exchanged glances of uneasiness; but Achmed

Pacha's stern, handsome face was inscrutable in its composure.

"We are sorely pressed," replied the officer, mustering courage to

speak. "Unless Allah work a miracle in our favor, we must succumb;

it seems to me, therefore, that a useless defence will but

exasperate the enemy."

Achmed Pacha turned to the other. "And you?" said he, mildly.

"Most illustrious leader of the armies of the faithful," said the

second officer, quite reassured as to consequences, "if you insist

upon hearing the candid opinion of the least of your servants, I

must venture to say that our garrison is exhausted and spiritless.

Allah has forsaken us, and it were better to stop further effusion

of blood by an honorable surrender."

Achmed's eyes now darted fire, and the angry blood rushed to his

pale brow. He signed to a third officer to advance.

"You have heard these traitors," said he in a loud, distinct voice.

"Off with their cowardly heads, and bear them through the city on

pikes, while a herald shall come after you, crying out to all who

choose to profit by the warning, 'Such is the fate of the traitors

that counsel submission to the Christian!'"

The officers were thrown to the ground, and, in a few moments, their

headless trunks lay stretched on the earth, while their heads were

borne aloft through the streets of Belgrade.

"Justice is satisfied," said Achmed Pacha, solemnly; "now let us

betake ourselves to prayer. Let us thank Allah, who has turned away

the perils by which we were threatened, and is preparing for the

faithful a great triumph over their unbelieving foe. The grand-

vizier is at hand with re-enforcements, and ere long the Christians

will be put to ignominious flight."

This declaration of the general soon made its way to every house in

the city, and caused universal joy. The soldiers crowded around

their chief and swore to defend Belgrade until the grand-vizier

arrived.

"And the Sultan will reward you all," said Achmed. "The booty will

be left to the soldiery, and the commander of the faithful will pour

out the treasures of his generosity from the horn of his

beneficence. The defenders of Belgrade will be the nearest to his

throne and his heart, and to your children shall descend the honors

he will confer! Now come and let us praise Allah for the glory you

are about to win!"

And with this flourish of promises, Achmed Pacha entered the mosque.

Once there, he fell upon his knees, and prayed after the following

fashion--:

"Allah, forgive me the lies which I have just uttered before the

gates of Thy holy temple. Allah, make true my words: send hither, I

implore Thee, the help I have ventured to promise to my unhappy

garrison; for the two unfortunates whom I have just executed were

the speakers of truth; if a miracle is not vouchsafed to us, we are

lost."

In the Christian camp Max Emmanuel was making ready to storm the

city; and his troops, with beating hearts, were eagerly awaiting the

signal to begin the assault.

"You are really going to commence your attack?" asked the Duke of

Mantua of the elector.

"Not only to commence, but to finish it," was the reply. "Before the

sun sets, Belgrade must be ours."

"Very flue and sententious," replied the duke, with a shrug, "but,

unfortunately, impracticable."

"Well--nobody can deny that your highness is a FAR-SEEING warrior,"

said Max, laughing, and remembering Mohacz. [Footnote: The Duke of

Mantua had promised to come to the assistance of the emperor. In

1637 he visited the imperial camp, where he was received with every

mark of consideration. On the morning of the battle of Mohacz, as

the troops were about to make the attack, he came up to General

Caprara, and in the coolest manner asked from what point he could

best observe the fight. The general replied, "Your highness must

join the staff of the commander-in-chief if you wish to look on

without being mixed up in the general engagement."--"But the staff

are in constant danger, as well as the rest," was his answer, "and I

might be struck by a ball or a bomb-shell."--"Oh!" cried Caprara,

"you wish to look on without endangering your life! Then go upto the

top of yonder mountain." The duke went, and remained there until the

battle was ended.] "You have an eagle-glance for a field of battle,

and I propose to renew for you to-day the spectacle which last year

you enjoyed looking on, while the rest of us were fighting."

"Think you that Belgrade is a bee-hive, and that the Turks are to be

smoked therefrom, like a swarm of bees?"

"I think that Belgrade is peopled by Turks, not bees; and yet I

shall smoke them out of it this very day. Will you bet me five

thousand ducats that I do not?"

"Yes, I take the bet; and although five thousand ducats is a

considerable sum, I sincerely hope I may lose it. I shall make,

haste to return to my villa, whence I can look on the assault, while

I pray for the success of your arms."

"We shall have unspeakable comfort in the thought," cried the

elector, galloping off to join his staff.

"A pious Moses that," said he to Prince Eugene. "I am really glad

that he has again taken his leave. I lose all my pride of manhood

when I look upon such a poltroon, and think that we are of the same

species."

"He is a natural curiosity," said Eugene, "a mere exception to his

race. I rather enjoy the contemplation of such a sporadic case of

cowardice."

The attack was to begin at five points simultaneously. When the

fifth courier had reported his division to be in readiness, the

elector, giving orders to his staff which dispersed them for a

while, turned to Eugene and began in a low voice:

"Eugene, I feel like a lover who has just become a husband. My heart

beats with anticipation of bliss, and is all aflame with desire."

"I should think you had clasped Bellona to your heart so often, that

you would have learned to accept her favors without excitement or

anxiety," returned Eugene, playfully.

Max glanced at the calm and self-possessed prince, and replied: "You

shall teach me self-control, dear Eugene, for you have wonderful

mastery over your emotions. Did I not know what a warm heart is

throbbing under that composed demeanor, I should imagine Prince

Eugene to be a mere compound of wisdom and self-possession; and yet

I know that, at this very moment, that heart is burning with love

for one who, in the hour of battle, is dearer to him than ever.

Eugene, this is a moment of solemnity enough for me to ask you

whether Laura lives?"

"I do not know," murmured he, nervously grasping his reins, and

becoming very pale. "I have no news, and yet, if she were dead, my

heart would tell me so; I believe, then, that she is alive, and,

should I fall to-day, there hangs a medal lion around my neck (her

dear portrait), which must be sent to her. Say that I died loving

her beyond all power of speech to convey; that for her love, I bless

and thank her, trusting that she will forgive me for having been the

cause of all her misfortunes. I am grateful to you, Max, for having

spoken of her to me. If I die, this is my last will."

"Enviable saint, that has but one legacy and one love! I shall take

very good care not to entertain you with the history, in many

volumes, of all my various loves. But the last of them you can greet

for me, should I fall to-day; and you will do it cordially, for she

is Laura's sister-in-law. Tell my beautiful Lucretia that I have

been happy in her love; and, although I would not have her mourn for

me, I hope she will sometimes waft me a thought or a gentle sigh.

And now--to arms, and to victory! You promise to fight at my side,

do you not?"

"Yes, Max--nothing but death shall part us, until Belgrade is ours."

"Give me your left hand, while, with the right, I give the signal

for the attack."

So saying, the elector held aloft a silken flag, which fluttered for

a moment, and then boldly caught the breeze.--There was a short

silence; then every Christian gun proclaimed defiance to the Turk.

Early in the action, General Scarffenberg was mortally wounded; but

he had carried his point of attack, and with his dying eyes he saw

the Austrians mount the breach, and drive away the enemy at the

point of the bayonet. The bastion once reached, the men, almost

reeling with fatigue, paused for a moment to regain breath. The

enemy taking advantage of the halt, returned and poured out such

numbers of fresh assailants that the Christians from sheer

exhaustion began to falter, and were about to be driven back, when

Prince Eugene, seeing their danger, sprang forward to General

Sereni, and called for re-enforcements.

Placing himself at their head, the bastion was recaptured, and the

Austrians rushed eagerly forward to follow up their success.

But just beyond the breach lay a deep, wide trench, behind which the

enemy had fortified themselves, and were now pouring out a murderous

fire.

"The line of these breastworks must be broken," said the elector.

But the question was--how were they to be broken? Not a path was to

be seen conducting thither: and the imperialists, hurried forward by

the eager troops behind, who were unaware of the impediment in

front, seemed to have no alternative but that of inevitable death or

retreat.

Retreat! odious word, which the officers could not bring their lips

to pronounce. And yet there was no possibility of advancing; and to

remain stationary was to offer themselves for massacre. The soldiers

were so closely packed together that they could make no use of their

weapons, while the Turks were shooting them down like so many birds

in a battue. The elector stood by the side of the breach, and called

a hasty council of his officers.

"We have done enough for to-day," said General Sereni. "We can

intrench ourselves behind the breach, and renew the attack to-

morrow."

"The men are exhausted," urged another. "We will surely capture the

fortress to-morrow."

The elector had listened in perfect silence to the various changes

rung on the same idea; but he was not altogether convinced. He now

turned to Eugene, who spoke not a word, but gazed sharply from the

trench to the serried ranks of Turks on the opposite side. He raised

his eyes with a mournful, questioning look, to the face of the

perplexed commander. Their glances met, and a smile of perfect

understanding passed between them.

The elector hurried forward to the brink of the trench; behind him

came Eugene. Both drew their swords, and, brandishing them above

their heads, Max Emmanuel called out in clear, distinct, and ringing

tones:

"Comrades, look, and follow me!"

Then the two heroes sprang into the trench, and the troops rushed

forward to follow them. Many dislocated their limbs, as they leaped

down; but such as escaped without broken bones went onward, fighting

like tigers.

Suddenly an arrow pierced the cheek of the elector, and his face was

covered with blood.

"You are wounded, dear Max!" cried Eugene, affrighted.

The elector laughed, and, drawing out the arrow, replied, "Not at

all; this is Bellona's first kiss."

And, like a furious lion, he dashed ahead, and avenged the kiss by

many a stout blow of his sword.

The Janizaries were driven from their breastworks, but, ere they

went, one of them, astonished at the prowess of Eugene, whom he took

to be a lad, was determined to make short work of the insolent boy

that was slaying right and left like another David.

He raised his brawny arm, and smiled contemptuously upon so puny an

adversary. But when he would have dealt his blow, it was parried by

a thrust of such power that he reeled and almost lost his balance.

In his fury he raised his cimeter and cleft the helmet of the prince

in twain.

For a moment Eugene was dizzy, though uninjured; but, quickly

recovering his senses, he made a lunge at the Janizary and ran him

through the body. Without waiting to see him die, the prince drew

out his sabre and darted onward. The imperialists shouted and

cheered him as he went, but the Turks, too, had witnessed the deed,

and more than one musket was vengefully aimed at the slayer of the

Paynim Goliath. One--one, alas! has reached the mark. It has pierced

his foot, and he is no longer in a condition to make another step.

Heaven be praised that the Turks have taken flight, and that the

Christians have possessed themselves of the trench! Eugene has the

comfort of knowing that he will not he a captive, and this assurance

gives him strength to drag himself within speaking distance of a

group of soldiers.

"Bear me away, if you please," said he; "I cannot walk."

Two of them hastened to his relief, and bore him tenderly away to

the spot where a field-surgeon was attending to the wounded.

The town and citadel have fallen; nothing now remains to the Turks

but the castle, from the windows of which a white flag is

proclaiming their defeat and surrender. But the Christians do not

see it; and the elector, followed by his victorious troops, rushes,

sword in hand, to the prison wherein the Christian prisoners are

confined. The dungeons were crowded with fugitive Turks, who had

betaken themselves thither as the safest place to be found. They

cried for mercy, and it was granted them. Their lives were spared,

but they were prisoners. Achmed Pacha was among them. He came

forward and bent the knee before his conqueror.

"Allah has willed it," said he, "and may his name be praised!

General, thou hast prevailed, and I am thy prisoner. I ask but one

favor of thee. Give me no Greek or Rascian for my master; let me

serve a German."

The elector smilingly raised him, and explained that Christians did

not enslave their prisoners of war. "You have defended yourself

heroically," added he, "and we honor a brave enemy. The Emperor of

Germany alone is the arbiter of your fate."

"Allah will decide what that fate is to be," was the pious response

of the Mussulman.

The Elector of Bavaria has won his wager; but what cares a

victorious hero for ducats or dastards like the Duke of Mantua?

"Where is Eugene?" was his first inquiry. And, not seeing him among

his followers, he darted out of the castle in search of his friend.

The question passed from man to man, until one was found at last to

answer it. The prince was in the hands of the imperial surgeons, who

were vainly endeavoring to extract the ball.

The elector dragged one of them aside. "Is he dangerously wounded?"

asked he, anxiously.

"He may not die of the wound," was the surgeon's reply; "but it will

be tedious and very painful."

"He will live!" cried Max, wiping away a tear, and hastening to the

litter whereon Eugene was lying.

He bent over him, and gently touched his forehead.

Eugene raised his large, melancholy eyes, and looking upon the

beaming face that encountered his, he pointed to the wound, around

which the blood had already coagulated, and said:

"Happy Max, whom Bellona has kissed! Me she has trodden under foot."

CHAPTER V.

THE MARCHIONESS.

"Strozzi, take my advice, and give up this miserable life. Of all

earthly bores, solitude is the greatest."

"No, Barbesieur, in solitude I find my only comfort," returned

Strozzi, with a weary sigh. "Here, at least, Laura is indubitably

mine; here she is Marchioness de Strozzi."

"She is Marchioness de Strozzi throughout the entire world. as I am

ready to prove, who saw your hands joined together, and heard your

reciprocated vows in Paris."

"Yes, yes; but you know that she denies the marriage, and persists

that she is the wife of Eugene of Savoy."

"She is a sentimental fool," cried Barbesieur, with a coarse laugh.

"And devil take me but I would cure her of her folly were she my

wife! If she will not love you, man, why do you not force her to

fear you?"

"Fear me! Her soul knows not fear. Have I not tried to intimidate

her over and over again? and every threat I hurl, she thrusts back

into my teeth, as though her spirit were defended from harm by some

invisible, enchanted armor."

"And you love her! You, the master and jailer, creep about, with

sallow cheek and sunken eye, while your prisoner is the very

impersonation of hopeful happiness. At every unexpected step she

listens with a smile; if a cloud stray across the window, she

mistakes it for the shadow of deliverance! Verily, my excellent

father, who sent me hither to find out whether you were slowly

killing his daughter by your cruelty, will scarcely believe me when

I tell him what a beneficial effect has been produced upon her by

your wholesome restraint. You must know that, although not

remarkable for his social virtues, Monsieur Louvois has intervals of

puling sensibility, at which times he reproaches himself with the

part he took in the comedy of your marriage, and, since Prince

Eugene has grown famous, almost repents that he did not accept that

fascinating individual for his son-in-law. He is beginning to be

absolutely afraid of the little ex-abbe."

"And I too fear him," said Strozzi, gnashing his teeth. "He bears a

charmed life, or he would not see the light of heaven to-day. I

thought I had him beyond all power of rescue, once in Venice. So

sure was I that he must die, that I hastened to Laura and announced

his demise. That night I took her away, hoping by change of scene to

induce forgetfulness, where hope, of course, was extinct. One day,

in Milan, a group of men were talking of some recent victory of the

imperialists, and to my amazement I heard the name of the Prince of

Savoy among those who had most distinguished themselves."

"Was Laura with you?" asked Barbesieur.

"Alas, she was! And her beautiful face was transfigured with joy. I

felt as if I could have swooned with jealousy. I hurried her home,

and in half an hour she was on the road to this castle. Here I knew

that no news could ever reach her of the world or its heroes; here I

could leave her, and fear not to absent myself, for this is a lonely

forest, no strangers ever wander hither, and I have good, watchful

dragons to guard my treasure. I posted then, with all speed, to

Venice, entered the palace at night, and made my way to the secret

prison of which you have heard, to see for myself if it could

possibly be true that Eugene of Savoy was living."

"Did you find any one?"

"Of course, some man was bound to be there: else he could not have

escaped. Conceive my fury when I recognized my own hired bravo,

Antonio, who must have betrayed me, and remained instead of the

prince. I opened a niche in the wall, kicked his rotten carcass into

the lagoon, and, more wretched than ever, returned to this hell

wherein I languish, while paradise is within sight."

"How long do you intend to make a voluntary Tantalus of yourself."

"I shall stay until she forgets Prince Eugene, and loves me."

"I wish you joy; meanwhile I shall await your bulletins at my

delightful residence--your generous gift. I must remain until the

arrival of my father's couriers; and, having seen them off with the

glad tidings of my fair sister's flourishing condition, I will be

off for Bonaletta. I wonder which of us two she hates the more?

Come--we may as well go at once to her rooms, that my visit may be

over."

So saying, Barbesieur put his arm within that of the marquis, but

the latter, drawing back, pointed to the clock on the mantel.

"It is too early: she never permits me to come before eleven."

"And you--her husband, suffer such impertinent dictation from your

vassal--your wife!"

"I dare not thwart her by any intrusion of myself except at her

will. If I were to lay my hand on her, she would kill herself, like

another Lucretia, to save her honor. And if I contradict her by

coming before my time, she will start and grow pale, perhaps faint,

and be sick; and oh, Barbesieur! the idea of losing her, makes me

frantic."

"As you please," returned Barbesieur, with a shrug and a loud laugh.

"But as I am not pining for a sight of her beauty, I shall go

rabbit-hunting, while you stay at home and look wistfully at what

you dare not take."

So saying, Barbesieur shouldered his gun, whistled to his dogs, and

went off to the chase; while Strozzi, his eyes on the dial of the

clock, awaited the hour for visiting his inapproachable wife.

The marchioness was in an apartment situated in the centre of the

wing which her affectionate husband had fitted up for her

incarceration. No one that entered this magnificent suite would ever

have imagined that it was a prison. The walls were covered with

hangings of satin and gold; the floors were hidden by Turkey carpets

as soft as turf; the windows were festooned with curtains of velvet

and lace; and their recesses filled with tall Venetian mirrors.

Paintings of value adorned the walls, and frescoes ornamented the

ceilings; while every object of vertu that was known to the age, lay

in elegant profusion about this luxurious abode.

And yet it was veritably a prison, wherein the Marchioness de

Strozzi was confined "because of her hopeless lunacy," and the

windows thereof were guarded by a strong trellis-work of iron, which

might clearly be seen through their panes, while without, in an

anteroom, two she-dragons kept watch over the doors which led from

the prison to the world without.

The parlor of Laura's habitation opened into a boudoir which led to

the bedroom. This apartment was as sumptuously fitted up as the

others, but its windows were similarly guarded. Opposite, and beyond

the parlor, was a small room occupied by the duennas, so that the

prisoner could not leave her apartments without encountering one or

both of them.

Tonietta, the second lady's maid, was busy with her needle when the

marquis entered, and began his usual routine of inquiries.

"How is the marchioness to-day? Is she quiet and well-disposed? Has

she breakfasted? Does her health seem good?" and so on.

The woman's lip curled, but she controlled herself and made reply.

"Her ladyship is as usual. She has played on the harp, sung, and

taken her chocolate. But she was unusually cheerful while we were

occupied with her toilet, and I do not like this humor."

"Why, why?" asked Strozzi.

"Because it is a very sudden change--too sudden to portend good. She

has always been reserved, and showed no disposition to be friendly.

All of a sudden, she becomes talkative and gay."

"So much the better. That proves that she is becoming accustomed to

her lot."

"It might prove just the contrary," returned the duenna, with a

crafty glance at her master. "It might be intended to blind us, or

it might prove that she has hopes of escaping."

"Great God!" shrieked Strozzi, "you terrify me. What hope can she

possibly indulge of escape?"

"I do not know, but I like not her cheerfulness, nevertheless.

However, be under no apprehension, my lord; we keep strict watch,

and there is no mode of egress save through one of these two doors.

I am not afraid during the day--but at night! Who knows? Your

lordship was wrong to allow her to sleep in a room without us, and

to permit her to fasten her door against us."

"She would have it so," sighed Strozzi; "but what does it signify?

Had she wings, she could not fly out of her prison."

And, with these words, he passed into the parlor.

Laura sat by a window before her easel, and was so absorbed with her

work that she was, or affected to be, unconscious of her husband's

entrance. Not daring to advance, he stood in the doorway, devouring

her with his eyes, almost mad with desire to clasp her to his heart.

She, on her side, sat painting, and humming a song, her blue-satin

dress defining the graceful contour of her bust and slender waist,

then swelling out beneath into rich folds that shimmered like silver

under the sunbeams that fell upon them from the window above. The

long lace sleeves drooped in gossamer waves over the dress, leaving

bare her round, fair arms, firm and white as those of the Venus of

Milo. Her hair was gathered into a Grecian knot behind, and her

delicate profile, illumined by the morning sun, was so marvellous in

its beauty, that Strozzi's eyes filled with tears as he gazed, and

his sallow, sunken cheeks glowed with mingled love and hate.

He made a few steps forward, and encountered the cold glance of her

splendid eyes, and saw the slight bend of her haughty head, as she

became aware of his presence.

"What brings you hither, sir?" said she. "But I need not ask. You

have come to satisfy yourself by ocular demonstration that your

prisoner has not flown up the chimney. You need not trouble yourself

to remain--I am here."

"Prisoner, say you, cruel Laura! Tis I that am a prisoner; prisoned

by your coldness, and yet I love you--I love you to madness!"

"You are quite right thus to define your love; and perchance it may

lead you to that lunacy which is your lying pretext for

incarcerating me alive in this lonely castle."

"Oh, I fear it, I fear it!" cried he, despairingly, "for day by day

my reason fails me. Have mercy, have mercy!"

"Mercy! You who would have taken the life of the man I love. You are

an assassin, whose just portion would be the scaffold. But enough

why renew each day the mournful duo of your love and my contempt?

Let me be silent and wait."

"Wait! Oh, then, there is hope for me, and you bid me not despair!"

"You!--I spoke of myself; for, as there is a just God above us, I

believe that He will open the doors of my prison, and send His angel

to deliver me."

"Then you arc entirely without sympathy."

"Entirely--for the man that obtained possession of my person by a

fraud, and who, for five long, bitter years, has laden me with the

chains of this lie which he calls our marriage."

"I know that you have suffered, and I have wept for your sufferings,

while I have been impotent to lessen them. Speak but the word--say

that you are that which, by the laws of God and man, you have been

for these five long years, and I open your doors and restore you to

freedom. I ask you not to love me; but I implore you to accept my

love, and acknowledge yourself to be my wife; for well I know that,

the acknowledgment once made, you are too honorable, too virtuous,

to sully the name you are willing to bear. Oh, Laura, my peerless

Laura! I will make amends for all that I have inflicted upon you

through the madness of my love. I have wealth unbounded--a noble

name, high station: all shall be yours. See--I am at your feet. Call

me your husband, and henceforth I live to be your willing slave!"

"Never!" exclaimed she, starting from her seat, and receding in

horror from his touch. "My body you hold in bondage, but my spirit

is free; and it is away from this gloomy prison, far away, mingling

with that of my spouse before Heaven, my Eugene, my lord and

husband."

"Silence!" shrieked Strozzi, starting to his feet. "Silence! or you

will drive me mad! And be assured that as long as you defy me, just

so long will I hold you in bondage."

"You may not live forever, marquis, for the Strozzis, like other

men, are mortal; and death, perchance, may liberate me, without your

permission. But live or die, as you choose; I shall find means to

rejoin Eugene, and this conviction gives me strength to endure your

persecutions."

"The Marchioness Bonaletta is too proud and chaste to be the

mistress of any man," returned Strozzi, with some return of

courtesy.

"What do you know of me?--I counsel you not to build your hopes upon

any estimate you may have formed of my notions of honor, for they

will sorely deceive you, if you do."

Before the marquis had time to reply to these defiant words, the

door opened, and Barbesieur, holding a letter in his hand, entered

the room.

Laura frowned, and asked Strozzi by what right her room was thus

invaded by a stranger. "I do not desire his presence," she said. "Be

so good as to conduct him to your own apartments."

"I am not so easily conducted, most amiable sister," returned

Barbesieur. "I have come to deliver a message from your father,

after which I shall take my leave without the least regret. We are

about to go to war with Germany, and _I_ am about to receive a

general's commission in the French army, so that I have no time to

lose in forcing my company upon you."

"You a general's commission! You that were once publicly disgraced

by--"

"Your marriage has long ago consoled me for that trifling mishap,"

interrupted Barbesieur, "and in Paris nobody has ever presumed to

think less of me on account of it. I think that, in every way, the

sufferer there from was the valiant Eugene. And, by-the-by, that

leads directly to the business that brought me hither. That Emperor

of Austria has been entirely too lucky in war to please the King of

France; and Max Emmanuel, whom we had expected to win over to our

side, is the commander-in-chief of the imperial armies. Max--your

quasi brother-in-law, Strozzi; for doubtless you are aware that

Lucretia, the left-handed electress, is the first person in

importance at the Bavarian court."

"May she be damned for it!" muttered Strozzi, between his teeth.

"Not on her head as much as on yours rests the shame of Lucretia's

act," said Laura, reproachfully.

"Ah!" cried Strozzi, a gleam of joy darting athwart his meagre face,

"you acknowledge, then, that a woman is disgraced who loves a man

whom she cannot marry!"

"A truce to this nonsense, my turtle-doves," interposed Barbesieur.

"I bring you tidings which henceforth render such discussions

superfluous. Listen to me, both of you. My father has sent me a bit

of news which, coming direct from the Marquis do Villars--that is,

from Munich--is positive and authentic. Here it is."

Laura turned away her head that they might not see her emotion,

while Strozzi besought Barbesieur not to be so long-winded.

"Well, I will gratify you both. Belgrade is taken; Prince Eugene, as

usual, was foremost in the fight; but unhappily for some people, and

happily for others--"

Here Barbesieur paused to enjoy the agony of his sister's suspense.

Her face he could not see, but her trembling figure gave evidence of

the poignancy of her anguish.

"Well--" said Strozzi, "what befell him?"

"Something not at all uncommon--he was killed."

Laura turned quickly around and caught the diabolical glance of

Barbesieur's eyes. "I--I do not believe it," murmured she.

"Did you say that you had the original letter from the Marquis?"

asked Strozzi, eagerly.

"Yes, here it is; the marchioness can see for herself."

Laura took the paper and glanced hurriedly over its contents. She

raised her eyes to heaven in thanksgiving. "He is not dead," said

she, almost inaudibly.

"Then you have read very carelessly," returned Barbesieur. "The

letter says, 'so dangerously wounded that he was transported in a

dying condition to Vienna,'"

"Had he been dying, he would not have been transported to Vienna,"

exclaimed Laura, with a smile of returning hope. "No, no! Had Eugene

been dead, the air I breathe, the clouds that I watch as they pass

by yonder grated windows--my heart, whose beatings are responsive to

his--every thing in nature would have revealed the terrible truth.

Eugene lives--and lives to fulfil his great and glorious destiny.

Pardon me, O Lord, that, for a moment, my faith was weak!"

She looked so transcendently lovely as she spoke, that Strozzi's

heart sank within him. He turned his face away, and groaned.

"My charming sister is easily consoled, you perceive," said

Barbesieur to Strozzi. "And now that, according to her own

interpretation of the marriage ceremony, she is widowed, I hope to

hear before long that you have effectually dried up her tears. Come-

-let us leave this hopeful widow to herself."

"I come," replied Strozzi, "for you must take some refreshment

before you go. Until the hour of dinner I take my leave,

marchioness."

"Marquis," said Laura, following him to the door.

Strozzi dropped Barbesieur's arm, and returned to her at once.

"You have something to command?" said he, humbly.

"I do not wish to dine to-day," said she. "It will be useless, then,

for you to return."

"I cannot deny myself that pleasure," was the reply.

Laura constrained herself to soften her tone, and to implore. "Only

this one day," said she, in trembling tones. "I need repose--quiet--

"

"To weep out the first pangs of widowhood," interrupted Barbesieur,

with one of his coarse laughs. "Come, Strozzi--let her cry it out

to-day, she will be all the more smiling for it to-morrow."

"Then as you please," said Strozzi, bowing respectfully. "I will not

return until to-morrow before noon."

"Tell my turnkeys that they need not disturb me," said Laura. "Let

me be veritably and entirely alone."

"You cannot dispense with their help," objected the marquis.

"I can and will dispense with their presence," returned Laura. "And

may I ask of you, as a guaranty that I shall not be disturbed, to

leave the keys inside? The bolts without are secure, and the women

can watch by the doors to see that I do not attempt to escape."

"Your will shall be my law, to-day," said Strozzi, "for I am but its

slave. When will you reward my love--when, Laura?"

"Leave me, I implore you," was the faltering reply of his stricken,

wife; "leave me for this one day!"

"I will," cried Strozzi, casting passionate glances at her, "but to-

morrow?"

"To-morrow," replied Laura, solemnly, "to-morrow is in the hands of

God!"

"There, now," exclaimed Barbesieur, "she is making promises already.

Come along--I am really hungry."

The voice of Strozzi was heard in the anteroom, and in a few moments

Carlotta removed the key to the inside. With one bound Laura reached

the door, and fastened it within. Then crossing the parlor, she

locked herself within her boudoir, and, falling on her knees,

besought the blessing of God upon her flight--for she was resolved

to fly that very night.

CHAPTER VI.

THE FLIGHT.

For one year--from the day of her meeting with Eugene--Laura had

been revolving in her mind the possibility of escape, and again and

again had she been compelled to acknowledge that escape was

impossible. At night, lest sleep should overpower their senses, her

untiring spies had barred the doors that led from the anteroom with

their beds. Sometimes Laura had proposed to bribe them; but in the

event of success with the women, a watchman kept guard at the head

of the staircase; and at the entrance of the castle was stationed a

porter, whom no one could pass without the watchword. If all these

obstacles had been overcome, and the prisoner had found egress to

the park, she was met by four watchmen, whom neither promises nor

bribery had power to conciliate. These were four bloodhounds who

were loosed at night by the marquis's own hands, and on whose

fidelity he knew that he might count.

Flight through the doors was out of the question; flight from the

windows, had they been free, was equally so; for whoever had dared

their dangerous descent, would have been devoured the very moment he

touched the ground below.

Plan after plan was made and rejected, and yet she must--she would

escape.

In her parlor was one of those large chimneys found in old castles,

chimneys that were intended to consume an entire load of wood at

once. On one occasion, Strozzi being present at the time, a chimney-

sweep went up its grimy walls, to cleanse them from the accumulated

soot of the winter. Strozzi, forgetting that the sweep had to

return, began to make declarations to Laura, and finally became so

lovelorn as to throw himself at her feet. He was on his knees,

whining for forgiveness, when the little sweep, like a deus ex

machina, alighted suddenly in the middle of the hearth, and

surprised him in his abject and ridiculous posture.

Laura laughed outright; but the marquis, of course, did not share

her mirth. He turned furiously upon the sweep, threatening to take

his life for his impertinent intrusion. The poor fellow pleaded the

impossibility of getting out by any other means, when the marquis,

stamping his foot with rage, bade him begone up the chimney, and

ordered him to find his way over the castle-roof to another chimney

at the farthest extremity of the building, which led into an ancient

buttery, and thence to the park.

From that day, Laura had revolved in her mind the feasibility of

escape through the chimney. If a boy like that had so often gone up

and down in safety, why not she, when urged by the double incentive

of liberating herself from Strozzi, and making her way to Eugene?

The more she pondered the scheme, the easier it seemed of execution,

and she began seriously to resolve means for carrying it out.

Accident soon befriended her. One day, in stepping back from a

window, whence she had been watching the flight of a flock of birds,

her foot became entangled in the carpet, and she fell. This carpet

did not cover the entire room. Within a foot of the walls it was

fastened by little brass rings, to nails of the same metal, which

caught and confined it to the floor.

Laura naturally looked to see the cause of her fall, and, while

examining the loosened nails, she perceived that the carpet--a

magnificent product of the looms of Turkey--was lined underneath

with a species of black cotton cloth, very similar to that of which

the sweep's garments were made. When she saw this, her heart beat so

wildly that she felt as if it were about to burst. Here was the

material of which her dress should be made! Providence had sent it

to her, and the enthusiastic girl knelt down and thanked God for His

goodness.

She now began to loosen it, and night after night, when her door was

locked inside, she worked as prisoners alone are gifted to work,

until she had stripped off enough cloth for her purpose. She gave

out that, to beguile her solitude, she was desirous of embroidering

an altar-cloth of black velvet, and Carlotta was dispatched to the

nearest town, to procure materials for the work.

Carlotta was absent three days, whence Laura concluded that the

"nearest town" was at some considerable distance from the castle, of

whose situation the marquis had taken good care that she should

remain ignorant. But another accident revealed to her the name of

the town. She found it in a small paper which enveloped some thread,

and contained the name of the merchant from whom it had been

purchased, with the place of his residence in a street which Laura

knew to be the great thoroughfare of Turin. She was then not two

days' journey from Turin, and no longer on Venetian soil.

Once in Turin, she was safe from pursuit, for her estates lay in

Savoy, and the duke was obliged to give her protection. She was his

subject, and he could not refuse it.

And now began that change of manner and of life which had awakened

the suspicions of the two duennas. For several hours of the day she

worked at her altar-cloth; but when night set in, and her doors were

locked, the needles, thread, and scissors, disappeared from the

frame in the parlor, and the black cloth was gradually converted

into a jacket and pantaloons like that of the sweep. This

accomplished, Laura set about devising a cord and weight, by which

she might descend into the buttery. She had so closely observed the

little lad she was resolved to emulate, that she had succeeded in

fashioning out of the heavy bindings of some old hangings, that lay

in a sort of rubbish closet, a stout rope, of strength sufficient to

bear her weight.

It was at this juncture of her preparations, that Barbesieur broke

in upon her happy solitude, with his terrible tidings of Eugene's

misfortune. She was ready to risk her life to meet him, and

perchance he was mortally wounded, and she might never see him more!

A woman less resolute might have faltered in her purpose; but to

Laura the news of her lover's danger had imparted new strength, and

she would liberate herself that very night, or perish in the

attempt.

She had no money; the marquis had considered it prudent to relieve

her of the custody of her wealth, and to put it out of her power to

bribe his spies. But she had jewels, and such of these as could be

concealed about her person she took.

During the day she had played upon her harp, and improvised melodies

so ravishing, that Strozzi had been on his knees outside, listening

and weeping by turns. Finally, when she had ceased singing, he

knocked, and besought her to let him look for one moment upon her

face, to let him imprint one kiss upon her hand.

Laura thought it prudent to comply, so she opened the door and

allowed him, for the first time in his life, to hold her hand and

press it to his lips, and to thank her for the heavenly music. Not

to overdo the matter, she allowed him to remain but a few moments;

and the marquis retired, perfectly convinced that all was right, and

that he had a hope of winning that obdurate heart at last.

Night was at hand! The skies were overclouded, with here and there a

star struggling through the darkness. Gradually the castle grew

silent, the closing of doors and drawing of bolts ceased at last,

and all was still.

All, except those two duennas; and Laura saw that if she ever was to

lull them to bed, she must call them in to undress her. So opening

the door, she beckoned to Carlotta, who, to her great joy, appeared

in a dressing-gown. Finally, the comedy being over, and the duennas

completely hoodwinked, Laura locked her doors a second time, and,

retreating to her bedroom, raised the carpet and drew forth her

black disguise. She tore off her white night-gown, clasped a pearl

necklace around her neck, and several diamond bracelets on her arms,

and then arrayed herself in the costume of the chimney-sweeper. She

took up her rope, and, fastening a small iron casket to the end,

slung it over her shoulder, and began her dark, perilous ascent.

Away! away! Over the castle-roof to liberty and love!--

With her delicate little hands she seized a hook that projected from

the chimney. She reached a second and supported her foot on the

first; a third, a fourth; and now the opening grew narrow and more

narrow, and she struggled along through the black, suffocating hole,

until her breath had almost failed her, and she had nigh been choked

to death! Poor girl! She could not reach her eyes to clear them of

the soot that was blinding and maddening her with pain, and she

began to tremble lest she should lose her senses. But she prayed to

God to deliver her, and made one supreme effort to free herself. She

felt the air from above; the hole began to widen, and she could lay

her head backward and breathe. She raised her smarting eyes and saw

a light--a star! A greeting from heaven!

But she felt that at such a moment she must not indulge in

sensibility. The extremity in which she found herself required

resolution, daring, and coolness. She called up all her courage, and

struggled on. At last--at last, her hands rested on the top of the

chimney: she drew herself upward, and with one bound sprang upon the

roof.

For a moment or two she leaned her weary arms upon the edge of the

chimney; then, placing her ear at the opening, she listened to hear

if there was any stir below. No--all was silent: not a sound broke

the profound stillness of the night, She must be going then--over

the castle-roof to liberty and love!

She groped, with hands outstretched, for some support, but found

nothing. Nevertheless she must tread the dark and mysterious way

that was to lead her to freedom, and she made a few steps forward.

Suddenly she grew faint and dizzy, and a shudder ran through her

limbs; she tried to rally her strength and put out her foot. It

encountered some obstacle which sent her reeling backward; and,

murmuring a prayer to Heaven, she swooned and fell. When she

recovered her senses, she was lying, she knew not where, perhaps she

had fallen from the battlements to the ground, there to be devoured

by the savage bloodhounds, or to become again and forever the

prisoner of the abhorred marquis. But she felt no pain and,

stretching out her hand to make an effort to rise, she perceived

that she was on a smooth, hard surface, and lay against the

battlements, or rather against a heavy stone balustrade that

surrounded the castle-roof. With this balustrade to grasp, she could

arrive at the chimney she was seeking; all she had to do, was to use

it as a guide to the remote wing she was trying to reach. If there

had been but a few friendly stars to smile upon her perilous

pilgrimage! But the night was fearfully dark; so dark that she had

no reliance beyond her sense of touch. This alone admonished her of

her approach to the angle where she was to turn into the wing. Now

and then she paused and looked back to see if there was light or

sign of life along that broad castle-front. But all was safe, and

she went slowly on. She felt hopeful now, and strengthened, for the

wing was quite remote from the inhabited parts of the castle; its

windows opened low; and a pathway, now overgrown with weeds, led

from one of these windows to a gate which, as the marquis had never

dreamed of danger in that quarter, was always left unlocked for the

accommodation of the foresters and wood-cutters. Oh, that she were

but there! On! on! she must hasten, or she might be discovered! She

was about to press forward, when, to her unspeakable horror, she

perceived that her hand rested no longer on the balustrade. She had

passed the chimney and stood upon the unprotected battlements!

Shuddering, she drew back--her feet almost giving way under her

trembling limbs; but in the might and vigor of her strong, firm

will, she drew herself up and retreated. The roof was not steep--it

had merely descent enough to carry off the rain; but the tiles were

so smooth that more than once she slipped back, and she was becoming

timorous and weak. While she was resting for a moment from her

fatigue, however, she saw something looming up above the roof the

sight whereof restored her courage and her strength. It was the

long-sought chimney.

She darted toward it, and in a few moments had made fast her rope,

and dropped it within. She caught it in her hands, and then,

carefully sliding into the chimney, began her frightful descent. In

vain she tried to resist; the rope slipped through her fingers with

such fearful rapidity that, by the time she had reached the hearth,

her delicate hands were all streaming with blood. She scarcely felt

the pain, she had but one absorbing thought--she was free!

Folding those poor, quivering hands, she whispered a thanksgiving to

God, and rose, full of hope and joy. Not a sound was to be heard;

and now, blessing the obscurity that shielded her from view, she

opened the window, and darted down the pathway. The gate yielded to

her touch, and, like a frightened doe, she fled through the woods,

until the castle was out of sight, and she could venture to breathe.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FORESTER'S HUT.

Morning had not yet dawned; nevertheless there was light and life in

a little hut that nestled in the woods near Strozzi Castle. The

forester, in hunting costume, stood in the middle of the hearth;

while his young wife, by the light of a flaming pine torch, prepared

his breakfast.

The whole room was illumined by the torch, whose red rays flickered

even over the face of the infant that lay sleeping in its cradle,

and shone far down the forest glade, a kindly beacon to guide the

footsteps of the fugitive of Strozzi Castle.

The forester rose from his breakfast, and slung his gun across his

shoulder. "Now I must go, Marcella," said he, "or the stag will have

left the brook before I get there. By sunrise it will be off."

"Go, then, Luigi, and may the holy Bernard protect you! I do hope

you will bring down the stag, and please the marquis by your skill

as a huntsman."

"Please him? He looks as if nothing on earth would ever please him

again. He is the crossest-looking man you ever saw; so unlike his

wife. They say the marchioness is crazy; but I do not believe it."

"Why, Luigi? Did you ever see her?"

"Once, when I went to the castle to tell the marquis that his hounds

were ready for the hunt. He was out walking in the park, and I had

to wait for him to come back. Presently he came with two lackeys

before him, and two behind, and at his side the most beautiful woman

you ever laid your eyes upon. I could have fallen on my knees before

her, she looked so lovely; while he--bless me, Marcella, with his

fierce eyes and his thick brows frowning over his long, sallow face,

he looked like Love's headsman--such a face.--But I must go; I will

tell you the rest another time."

"Oh no; do tell it to me now, I love so to hear you talk, dear

Luigi. But I will not keep you from your work. Let me go a bit with

you into the forest, as far as the blasted oak. It is too late for

me to sleep, and the baby will not wake for half an hour."

"Very well," said Luigi, kissing her; "come, for morning will soon

dawn."

So, with their arms entwined about each other, the young couple went

out into the woods, and the sound of their loving voices was sweet

to the ear of the wanderer that stood upon their threshold. Laura

pushed open the door, and entered the little room, looking around to

see if any one was nigh.

Her dress was torn, and her hands and feet were bleeding; but her

countenance beamed with hope, as, approaching the fireplace, she

rested her stiffened limbs.

After enjoying for a few moments the reviving glow of the fire, she

rose and looked around to assure herself that no one was near. "She

is to be absent for half an hour," said Laura to herself. "By that

time I will have destroyed this garment, and God will forgive me the

substitution of my bracelet for one of the peasant's gowns."

Opening a chest that stood by the side of the bed, the marchioness

took out a petticoat and kirtle of coarse, dark stuff; stripped off

her sweep's dress, and, in a trice, was transformed into a country-

maid, very beautiful, but sooty still. Then throwing her disguise

into the fire, she rejoiced to think that no human being would ever

find out the manner of her escape.

Half an hour after, Marcella returned, and rekindling the fire,

prepared to warm her baby's milk. As she rose from her knees, she

looked instinctively around at the child's cradle, and there, to her

extreme astonishment, she saw the figure of a woman with hands

outstretched, and eyes that seemed to plead for mercy. Marcella

darted toward the cradle, her fears being entirely for her child.

But it lay peacefully slumbering with a smile on its face, and the

mother began to be apprehensive for her wares.

"Who are you?" said she, sharply, to Laura.

"Marcella," replied the marchioness, coming forward and taking her

hand, "I am an unhappy woman, that implores you, by all your hopes

of heaven, to rescue her from persecution."

But Marcella heard not a word of this petition. She had recognized

her petticoat and kirtle, and screamed with all her might:

"Those are my clothes, you thief! You have been robbing me! Thief!

thief!" cried she. "Oh, why is Luigi not here? Give me my kirtle!

Off with my clothes, this instant, you rogue!"

Laura was somewhat alarmed, and not a little hurt; for the grasp of

the peasant was rough, and her voice, as she called for help, was

loud and piercing.

"Marcella," said she, when she had opportunity to speak, and her

tones were so pleading, that the woman listened in spite of herself-

-"Marcella, as I stood beside your threshold to-night, I heard your

husband telling you of the misfortunes of the Marchioness Strozzi.

He broke off to go into the forest; you followed him, and now I can

tell you what he related after you left the cottage. Your husband

came respectfully up to the marquis, who repulsed him rudely, and

asked what business he had in the court of the castle. Luigi replied

that Battista had admitted him, whereupon the marquis discharged

Battista on the spot, and drove him from the castle. Then he dragged

the marchioness forward and hurried her up the steps of the

portico."

"Just so," murmured Marcella. "But what else? Do you know what else

occurred? What the signora did?"

"Of course I do. Slipping from her finger a diamond-ring, she

presented it to Battista, saying, 'Forgive me; it is I who am the

cause of your dismissal.'"

"So she did!" cried Marcella. "But how came you to know?"

"Alas! I am that unhappy marchioness."

"The Marchioness Strozzi!"

"Yes; but believe me, Marcella, I am not crazy. For five years I

have been a prisoner, and now that God has willed my liberation by

means so marvellous as almost to partake of the character of a

miracle, He has sent me to you that you might aid in the blessed

work of my deliverance. See my hands bleeding and cut--see my feet

torn by thorns, and bruised by stones;--and oh, as you hope for

mercy, help me on my way to liberty!"

"I do not believe you," was the reply of the cautious Marcella. "The

Marchioness Strozzi would not come out of her grand castle by night

to steal a poor peasant-woman's clothes. Where are your fine

garments, if you are the marchioness? Let me see them."

"I came disguised, and burnt up the dress in which I made my escape.

I needed another disguise, and have taken your clothes; but I will

reward you richly for the forced loan. Take this bracelet; your

husband can sell it, and, with the money, buy you a pretty farm."

"Ah!" screamed Marcella again, "now I know you to be a thief,

perhaps worse than a thief! You have been stealing the jewels of the

signora; for aught I know, murdering her with those bloody hands,

and now you want to bribe me to help you away! No. no. you shall not

escape--that I promise you."

"Oh, Marcella, how shall I convince you that I am no impostor? I

swear, by God who made, by Christ who redeemed me, and by His holy

mother, the Blessed Virgin, that I am the Marchioness of Strozzi,

the unhappy prisoner of yonder gloomy castle. It is impossible that

you can be so cruel as to deliver me into the hands of its wicked

lord! A woman that loves--that loves her husband and child, must

surely have a compassionate heart! See--I am at your feet!--In

mercy, help me to escape!"

Marcella slowly shook her head. "I cannot, I cannot, I dare not."

"Yes, yes, you can, you dare do a good action. Think of the joy you

experienced when the pangs of your travail were past, and you had

given birth to a child whom you loved even before it had seen the

light of life. Think, if your child should be in distress like mine,

and kneel in vain at the feet of another woman who might deliver it

from peril, and would not!--Oh, if you were in your grave, as my

dear mother is, would you not curse the heartless being that

repulsed your orphan!--Oh, mother! my dead mother! soften this

woman's heart, that she may help me!"

Just then the voice of the baby, cooing in its cradle, reached

Marcella's ear, and strangely moved her heart.

"Ah, the child--the dear child will plead for me," cried Laura. And,

stooping to the cradle, she raised the baby in her arms, and brought

the little rosy, smiling thing to its mother's feet.

"Let this baby, whom you love, be my advocate. I lay my hand upon

its head and swear before Heaven that I am an innocent fugitive from

persecution. Do unto me as you would have others do unto your own

child."

And Marcella, no longer able to resist the pleadings of that

melodious voice, burst into tears, and, encircling both Laura and

the baby in her arms, clasped them close to her heart.

"My child, my child!" cried she, tenderly. "As I do to this unhappy

lady, so may others do unto you."

"Then you will not betray me!" cried Laura, joyfully. "Oh, good,

good Marcella, may God bless you for those pitying words!"

Marcella wiped her eyes, kissed her baby, and, replacing it in its

cradle, said, "Now, signora, that I consent to assist you, tell me

at once what is to be done, for it must be done quickly."

"Give me these clothes and a little money; guide me out of the

forest to a post-station whence I may travel to Turin; and for these

services take the bracelet: it is honestly mine, and therefore

yours."

"It is now four o'clock," observed Marcella, looking toward the

east.

"And precisely at eight the marquis will visit my rooms and discover

my flight. Come--come--we have indeed no time to lose."

"We can reach the station in an hour," replied Marcella, "and the

postilions will start early this morning for--to what point did you

say you wished to travel, signora?"

"To Turin."

"That is a pity," murmured Marcella.

"Why?" asked Laura, anxiously.

"Because, if you were going northward, we might find you an escort.

Luigi and I met a courier who was going to the next station to order

post-horses for a traveller who is to leave for Vienna this morning.

The man stopped to ask us the way."

"For Vienna!" cried Laura. "Who is going to Vienna?"

"The physician of the Duke of Savoy, whom his highness is sending to

see a kinsman of his who is very ill in Vienna."

Laura uttered a cry of joy. "O God! my God, I thank thee!--Come,

Marcella: I know the duke's physician, and he, of all other men, is

the one I prefer for an escort."

"But your poor, bleeding feet, signora," cried Marcella, piteously.

"Never mind them. May they bleed anew, so I but reach the station in

time to meet the physician I God has sent him to my deliverance.

Come--let us away!"

BOOK VI.

CHAPTER I.

SISTER ANGELICA.

Two months had passed away since the fall of Belgrade, and Prince

Eugene of Savoy was still suffering from his wound. Nothing had been

spared that could contribute to his recovery; ho was attended by the

surgeon-in-chief of Max Emmanuel, visited daily by the physicians of

the emperor, and nursed by his untiring secretary, Conrad. More than

once the report of his death had been spread throughout Vienna, and

then contradicted.

But, until the arrival of the physician of Victor Amadeus, all

medical skill had proved unavailing. Whether through the agency of

Doctor Franzi or of the nurse whom he had brought with him. Prince

Eugene began, at last, to improve.

Sister Angelica, the nurse, had watched her patient with preterhuman

vigilance. Day and night she sat by his bedside, dressing his wound,

administering his medicine, and resting his fevered head on her

shoulder; laying her soft, cool hand upon his brow, until to wild

delirium succeeded tranquil sleep, or a calm, placid wakefulness. At

such times the nun was accustomed to sing; and at the sound of her

voice, Eugene smiled, and resigned himself to rest.

At last, the glance of his eye grew intelligent, and he returned to

a consciousness of his position. Doctor Franzi remarked with regret,

however, that he was apathetic, listless, and quite indifferent to

his recovery. He made no complaint, seldom spoke, and seemed to be

sinking gradually into a state of nervous prostration.

"Your highness," said the surgeon, one day, "you are now

convalescent, and it is time you made some effort to receive your

friends."

Eugene turned wearily away, and sighed. "No, no," murmured he, "I am

averse to the sight of any man, friend or foe."

"Nevertheless, I prescribe it," urged the doctor. "You are now less

sick in body than in mind, and you must have change of scene to

cheer you."

"Change will not cheer me," replied Eugene, languidly. "I feel

nothing but absolute weariness of life."

"A morbid state of mind resulting from your long confinement to this

room, and it must be overcome by yourself. A pretty thing it would

be, to be sure, if, after saving your life, we should allow you to

fling it away because you are as melancholy as a lovesick maiden!"

"Doctor," cried Eugene, flushing. "choose your words more

carefully!"

"Good, good," returned the doctor, with an approving nod. "You have

some spirit left, I perceive, and if you would but see one or two of

your most intimate friends--"

"I will not see them," interrupted Eugene, peevishly. He would have

said something more, but his speech was checked by a paroxysm of

coughing. In a moment, the door opened noiselessly, and the nun

gliding in hastened to support his trembling frame; and. while he

suffered his head to fall upon her shoulder, wiped the dews from his

clammy forehead. Then, gently placing him on his pillow, she warmed

his drink over a lamp, and held it to his lips while he partook of

it.

"Thank you, dear sister," said the invalid, faintly.

The next morning a consultation was held by the physicians of the

prince, and it was decided that he must have change of air without

delay. Eugene, reclining in an arm-chair, looked wearily on, until

the conference was at an end; then, shaking his head and frowning,

he turned away and gazed fixedly at his nurse, who, with arms

crossed over her breast, stood close at hand, ready to anticipate

his wants ere he could give them utterance.

"Your highness must not resist," said the imperial court physician.

"Change of air and of scene is indispensable to your recovery."

"Let me die here," was Eugene's languid reply.

"Your highness is not going to die," observed Doctor Franzi; "but I

am afraid that you are about to cause the death of another person."

"Whom can you mean?" asked Eugene, interested.

"I mean Sister Angelica, your nurse."

"Surely she is not sick," said the prince, turning anxiously around.

"No!" said he, smiling, "no--she is here."

"And yet she is sick," persisted Doctor Franzi. "For a month past,

she has lived without sleep, scarcely snatching a moment to change

her clothing, and never once breathing any but the air of this sick-

room." The nun made a deprecating gesture. "You need not deny it,"

continued the doctor. "Prince, when Sister Angelica was allowed by

the prioress of her convent to accompany me to Vienna, she made a

vow never to leave my patient until he recovered from his illness or

died. Now you are neither dead nor about to die; but if you do all

you can to frustrate our endeavors to cure you, your nurse will

succumb long before you are well enough to dispense with her

valuable services."

"In that case, I cease to oppose you," said Eugene. "Do with me what

you will. God forbid that I should harm my ministering angel!"

"In view of your highness's submission to our orders," observed the

court physician, "his majesty the emperor has offered the use of his

palace at Schonbrunn, and we have taken the liberty of preparing

every thing for your immediate departure."

"His majesty is too kind," was the reply, "and my first care shall

be to thank my gracious sovereign for so signal a proof of his

beneficence. Let us then depart for Schonbrunn. You are satisfied,

dear sister, are you not?"

The sister bowed her head, and passed her hand over Eugene's glossy,

black hair, while Doctor Franzi came in and out, making preparations

for the accommodation of his patient.

A litter was brought, and when the prince had been carefully placed

upon it the doctor inquired whether he felt comfortable enough

therein to bear the journey. Eugene, on his part, asked how his

physician and the nun were to travel.

"We expect to occupy your highness's carriage, and to precede you,

by a half hour, to Schonbrunn."

"Would it be inconvenient or uncomfortable for Sister Angelica to

occupy the litter with me?"

"By no means; but if she accompanies your highness, things will not

be quite so comfortable for your reception."

"Then let me have less comfort, and more content. She supports my

head so delightfully when I cough, and moves my wounded foot so

gently--"

The nun no sooner heard these words than she put aside the doctor

who was standing before her, and hastened to the litter, altered the

inclination of Eugene's pillow, and very gently changed the position

of his wounded foot,

"Oh, how I thank you, dear sister!" murmured the prince, with a sigh

of relief. "When you are by, pain seems to vanish, and night breaks

into joyful day."

The bearers raised the litter, and the little cortege set out for

Schonbrunn. Two runners went before, to make way, crying as they

went along:

"Room for the litter of his highness the Prince of Savoy!"

The hurrying wayfarers retreated at the sound; a passage was opened

through the crowded thoroughfares; and, while the hero of Belgrade

was borne along the streets of Vienna, the people stood respectfully

aside to let him pass.

The air of Schonbrunn was pure and delightful. Every morning the

prince was conveyed to its lovely gardens, where he spent at least

an hour in inhaling the sweet breath of coming spring. He drank

goat's milk for his cough, and partook submissively of the food

prescribed for his nourishment; but his fever was not subdued, and

his cheeks grew paler and thinner each day.

"We must use other means," said Doctor Franzi to the nun, who had

been anxiously questioning him as to the result of a consultation

held that day over the sinking patient. "My colleagues are of

opinion that his fever is hectic, and therefore incurable; but I

differ with them. I really believe that if he could be roused from

his apathy, we could save him yet. Corporeal remedies have done

their hest; we must try a moral reaction."

"What do you mean?" murmured the nun.

"I mean that Sister Angelica must raise her veil, and break her long

silence," replied the doctor, raising her delicate white hand to his

lips.

The nun trembled, and caught her breath, the doctor viewing her with

amazement. "What!" said he, "you who have displayed such fortitude

and endurance, are you about to become faint-hearted?"

"Doctor," whispered she, "joy has its agitation as well as grief.

And if the shock should be too great for him!"

"If too great now, he will never be able to bear it, my dear child.

It is possible that it may deprive him for a time of consciousness,

but he will awake to life another man. At least, such is my

impression. I consider that his fate now lies in your hands, and you

must decide it to-day--nay, this very hour."

"Oh, doctor, I am so unprepared! I have no self-command; let us wait

until to-morrow. If we should fail--"

"We shall have done him no injury. I am ready to answer before God

that--"

The door was partially opened, and the valet of the prince

apologized for interrupting them. "His highness feels very much

exhausted, and calls for Sister Angelica."

"She will be there in one moment," replied the doctor.--"You see,"

whispered he, "that his heart has divined your presence. As soon as

you leave the room, he begins to suffer."

So saying, he gave her his hand, and she submitted to be led as far

as the door of the prince's sitting-room. There she paused, and

laying her hands upon her heart--

"Oh, it will burst," murmured she. "Doctor, you will remain with me-

-will you not?"

"I will remain as long as my presence is beneficial, and depart as

soon as it becomes oppressive. Come!"

He opened the door, and, with gentle constraint, compelled her to

advance. The prince, extended on his couch, looked very ill. "Have

you given me up? Have you, too, forgotten me?"

"'You too,'" echoed the doctor, while the nun was engaged in

preparing the patient's drink. "Why, has anybody else ever forgotten

your highness?"

"No," sighed Eugene; "I was unjust. But I have lost her, and that

loss is killing me."

"You hear him," whispered the doctor, while the nun, scarcely able

to hold the glass, presented it to the lips of her patient.

"Drink, Prince Eugene," said she, in low, trembling tones. At the

sound of her voice he started, and raised his head to listen.

"Great Heaven! Who spoke?"

The doctor smiled, and, slightly raising his shoulders, replied:

"Nobody but Sister Angelica, I presume, for nobody else is here."

"Sister Angelica!" repeated Eugene, slowly. "I thought she had made

a vow of silence, to last until her return to the convent?"

"You are quite right; but it appears that she has forgotten herself

for a moment, in her anxiety to serve you. Drink, then, to oblige

her."

Eugene clutched the glass and emptied it of its contents.

"Good," said the doctor. "Now that you are somewhat refreshed, I

must entertain you with a little outside gossip. I have letters from

Turin to-day. Victor Amadeus has disenthralled himself from his

filial bondage. His mother, having been regent during his minority,

has been struggling since his majority to retain her supremacy over

him and the duchy. She insisted upon taking precedence of her

daughter-in-law, the reigning duchess, and was equally bent upon

dismissing one of the ministers. There was considerable strife, and

no little intrigue in Turin, until the defection of one of the

dowager's adherents, which so strengthened the opposite party, that

she was obliged to succumb, and retired in high dudgeon to her

estates. The duke, on his side, out of gratitude to his new friend,

has created him prime minister--an appointment which is very popular

in Savoy--for there is not a worthier man in the dukedom than the

Marquis de Bonaletta."

At sound of this name, Eugene started up, and leaning his head upon

his hand, prepared to listen.

The doctor continued: "By-the-by, he is the uncle of the unfortunate

young marchioness of that name who was forced into a marriage with a

depraved Venetian nobleman called Strozzi. Your highness has heard

her history?"

Eugene murmured something in reply, and sank back upon his pillow.

"A very melancholy affair," pursued the doctor, signing to the nun

to approach, "and it has ended most singularly."

"Ended! How?" cried Eugene. "Speak, doctor, I implore you: is she

dead?"

"She? The marchioness? Quite the contrary, she is alive and well.

Her husband suddenly disappeared with her from Venice, last spring;

and it was discovered that he had confined her within a solitary

castle, somewhere in a forest; having previously given out to the

world that she was a raving lunatic."