"I believe you, Mirazzi; and therefore I, who am insincere toward

everybody else, am honest in my intercourse with you. Now listen to

me. In the science of medicine there are many remedies for diseases.

Are there any potions, known to physicians, that have power to

PRODUCE maladies?"

"That is a dangerous inquiry, your highness; for it regards the most

tragic secrets of the craft. There are many, many things known to us

that will produce sickness, followed by death, immediate or remote;

but unfortunately there are not as many as you suppose, that will

restore the vital energies where they are impaired by disease."

"But, doctor, surely you have some way of simulating disease without

injuring the patient. Cutaneous maladies, for instance, must be very

easily induced."

"They can more easily be induced than simulated. I can raise a

scarlet eruption on a man's skin; but when it appears, it will bring

with it fever and thirst."

"So much the better, so much the better!" exclaimed Victor Amadeus,

eagerly. "How long will the symptoms last?"

"If proper remedies are administered, they will disappear in five or

six days, your highness."

"Good, good," murmured the duke to himself; and then he began to

pace forth and back the length of the apartment. After a while he

came and stood directly in front of the doctor, who with his sharp

eyes had been watching him as he walked, and perfectly apprehended

the nature of the service he was expected to render to his

distinguished patient.

"Doctor," said the sick man, "I feel the premonition of some serious

illness. My head swims, my limbs ache, and cold chills are darting

through my body. My fever will be high, and perchance I may grow

delirious. Let me then use the rational interval left me, to make

such dispositions as might be necessary in case of my demise."

"Then let me advise your highness to get to bed as speedily as

possible," replied the doctor, solemnly. "This done, I will call in

our consulting physicians--"

"By no means: I hate consultations. Nobody shall come into my room

but yourself, and, when you need the advice of your coadjutors, you

must assemble them in some other part of the castle."

"I thank your highness for so signal a proof of confidence," said

Mirazzi, "but I am not at liberty to assume the undivided

responsibility of your nursing; for you may become really sick, and

you must have all needful attention. Were we in Turin, her highness

your noble spouse would suffer no one to attend you except herself;

but here--"

"Here she shall not come; and to make sure of this fact, I will

write her a letter in my own hand that will allay any anxiety she

might feel on my account. Write yourself to the duchess, and ask her

to send my old nurse--her that has always tended me in sickness. But

I feel very ill, doctor. Call my valet to undress me. When I am

comfortably arranged in bed, I will send for my secretary, and

afterward for my staff-officers. They must receive their orders from

me, before I lose my senses."

"To bed, to bed, your highness--that is the main thing!"

"Yes, that is the main thing," echoed the duke, falling into his

arm-chair, and drawing up his velvet coverlet. "Now, doctor," added

he, in a very faint voice, "call my valets, or I shall swoon before

they get me to bed."

CHAPTER IV.

THE DUKE'S DANGEROUS ILLNESS.

The news of the duke's terrible illness spread through the castle,

over the town, and reached the barracks of the soldiers, who, like

their officers, received the intelligence with blank looks of

disappointment.

The staff-officers hastened to the castle, and some of them made

attempts to penetrate the sick-chamber. But all in vain. Doctor

Mirazzi's orders were stringent, and the nerves of his patient were

not to be tried by the presence of any man, were that man his own

brother.

"We can determine nothing, nor can we administer any remedies," said

he, "until the malady declares itself. We must wait."

"We must wait," said the duke's physician, and the whole army was

doomed to inaction, while urgent and more urgent grew the necessity

for active operations.

Throughout the castle reigned profound stillness: not the least

sound was permitted to reach the duke's ears. The officers that

called were kept at a distance from his apartments, and to all their

inquiries there was but one and the same reply--the duke was

delirious, and incapable of giving orders.

Finally, after three days of mortal suspense, it was announced that

his highness of Savoy had malignant scarlet fever.

During the four days that followed this announcement, nobody was

allowed to enter the room except Doctor Mirazzi, and the old nurse

that sat up with the duke at night. But, on the fifth day, two

persons were admitted. Of these, one was the marshal of the duke's

household, the other was his cousin Eugene.

They were received with mysterious whisperings, and were warned not

to excite the patient. He had, in the incipiency of his illness,

insisted upon making his will, and these two confidential friends

had been summoned to witness it.

The old nurse now joined them to say that his highness was awake,

and would see Prince Eugene.

"My dear cousin," said the duke, languidly, "come and receive my

last greeting."

Eugene entered the alcove, and stood at the bedside. The bed was

curtained in purple velvet, and the hangings were so arranged as to

leave the duke's face in obscurity. Eugene perceived, nevertheless,

that there was no emaciation of features, nor any alteration in the

expression of the sharp, restless eye.

"My dear kinsman," continued the invalid, "it is all over with me. I

die without fame; I have fought my last battle and am vanquished by

invincible death."

"No, your highness, you have not the aspect of a dying man; and I

have strong hope that you will live to perform great deeds yet.

Young, wise, and brave as you are, your strong will may vanquish not

only death, but our common enemy--the King of France."

"May your words prove prophetic!" sighed the duke, "but something

tells me that I must prepare for the worst. I have made my will,

and--"

He paused, gasped for breath, and closed his eyes. Then motioning to

Eugene to come nearer, he whispered: "I have appointed you my

executor until the majority of my heir. Promise me to do all in your

power to make my subjects happy."

"Your royal highness amazes me, and I know not--"

He was interrupted by a loud groan which brought Doctor Mirazzi to

the bed in a trice. The duke was trembling; his teeth were clinched,

and his hands were pressed upon his temples.

Restoratives were used, and at the proper time the patient unclosed

his eyes. With a great effort he raised himself in bed, beckoned to

the marshal of the household to approach, and, supported by Mirazzi,

he put his name to the will.

"I request my minister and the marshal of my household to approach

and witness the signing of my will."

They came in, and, taking up a document which lay on a table close

by, the duke raised himself in bed, and, supported by the doctor,

gave his signature.

"Take it," said he, "to Turin. Place it in the archives, and when I

am dead let it be opened in the presence of the duchess and of my

well-beloved kinsman here present, the Prince of Savoy. And now,"

said he, "farewell. My strength is exhausted! The end is nigh!"

And with these faintly-articulated words, Victor Amadeus fell back

upon his pillow and swooned.

Eugene returned to his quarters in a state of extreme perplexity.

"How is the duke?" cried De Commercy, who shared his lodgings.

"I do not know," said Eugene, moodily. "But this I know. we march,

not to Grenoble, but back to Turin."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; such are the duke's latest orders, and, as he has appointed no

one to represent him, the army is still under his sole control. I

told you, we should get no farther than Embrun!"

"But the duke? It is not possible that he is acting the sick man all

this while?"

"Not possible! Nothing is impossible to such a crafty, vulpine

nature as his!"

"The bulletins say that he is attacked with scarlet fever, and you

must have seen whether he bears its marks on his skin or not."

"He has them, but--this shrewd kinsman of mine has many a secret

unknown to such as you and myself, Commercy. Perhaps I do him

injustice; for, in good sooth, I am provoked, and in a humor to

suspect everybody. His voice is very weak, and indeed, Commercy, I

would feel very uncomfortable should he prove to me, by dying, that

I have suspected him unjustly. I must go again; I MUST satisfy my

doubts."

The duke's condition was declared to be so precarious that sentries

were stationed at every entrance of the castle, to prevent so much

as the lightest footstep from being heard by the noble patient. He

was passing a crisis, and, during the transition, not a soul must be

admitted within the castle gates.

Prince Eugene, nevertheless, at dusk, betook himself thitherward.

The sentry saluted him, but barred the entrance.

"You do not know me," said the prince. "I am the duke's nearest

kinsman, and, unless you have orders to exclude me personally, I

have the entrance to his chamber."

"We have no orders with reference to your highness," was the reply.

"Then I must pass, and I shoulder the responsibility."

The officer signed to the sentry to stand aside, and Eugene entered

the castle, crossed the tessellated vestibule, and ascended the wide

marble staircase. Here he was stopped a second time, but he referred

the guards to the officer below, and was again allowed to pass. "I

must try to solve this riddle," thought he. "The emperor's interests

hang upon the solution. Luckily, I have a pretext for my unexpected

visit in these dispatches."

He had now traversed the long, lofty hall; had entered a smaller one

that led to the duke's antechamber, and had reached the opposite end

of the room, where stood two more sentries, one before each door

that opened into the duke's chamber. They had seen him in the

morning, and taking it for granted that, having penetrated thus far,

he had authority to go farther, they saluted him, and stepped aside.

Eugene whispered, "Is this the door by which I entered this

morning?"

The sentry bowed.

"Whither does it lead?"

"To his royal highness's alcove, my lord."

"Right," said Eugene, laying his hand on the lock. It turned, and he

was in a small recess which opened into the alcove. The portiere was

down, and Eugene stood irresolute before it. He felt a nervous dread

of he knew not what, and almost resolved to retrace his steps. He

thought he could not bear the shock of the duke's treachery, should

the illness prove--as he feared it would--a sham. He wondered what

he would do; and began to think it better not to penetrate into the

secrets of his kinsman's acts, but--

No, no! He had gone too far to lose his opportunity, and, ashamed of

his irresolution, he raised the portiere. The alcove was darkened by

draperies, but as soon as Eugene's eyes had accustomed themselves to

the obscurity of the place, he drew near the bed, opened the

curtains, and beheld--nobody! nothing!

"I was right," muttered he, grinding his teeth; "it was a comedy!"

As he retreated, he stumbled against the little table, and the chink

of the phials that stood upon it was audible.

"Is that you, my good Annetta?" said the voice of the duke.

Eugene emerged from the alcove, and entered the sitting-room. There,

in an arm-chair, before a table laden with viands, fruits, and rare

wines, sat the expiring patient that had made his will in the

morning.

The duke was in the act of raising a glass of wine to his lips. He

laid it hastily down, and his keen eyes darted fire at the intruder.

"What means this?" asked he, in a voice that was somewhat uncertain.

"If I may be permitted to interpret what I see before me," replied

Eugene, "I should say that your highness is merely carrying out

military customs. We were at a funeral this morning, to the tune of

a dead march--we return, this afternoon, to that of a quick-step."

"I hope you are agreeably surprised to find that instead of being

left behind, I have come back with the music," said the duke,

recovering his self-possession. "Come and join me in a glass of good

wine. I am as yet too weak to do the honors of my house, but I shall

enjoy my repast twofold, now that I have a guest. Sit down. My

physician, having ascertained that what I mistook for approaching

dissolution was a favorable crisis, has prescribed a generous diet

for me, and I do assure you that, with every mouthful, I feel my

health return. Ah, Eugene! life is a great boon, and I thank God,

who has generously prolonged mine. I hope that you, too, are glad to

see me revive; the army, I know, will rejoice to hear of my

recovery."

"I do not doubt their joy," replied Eugene, "for your highness's

quick convalescence will spare them the mortification of a retreat

to Piedmont. I presume you will now march to Paris."

"My fiery, impetuous Eugene," replied Victor Amadeus, with an air of

superiority, "you forget that convalescence is not health. I am here

for three weeks at least, and by that time the season will be too

much advanced to make a second invasion of France. So, God willing,

we shall return to Piedmont, there to prosecute the war against

Catinat and his incendiaries, whom I hope to drive ignominiously

from Italy."

"That is--we are to hold ourselves on the defensive," replied

Eugene, bitterly. "Your highness is truly magnanimous! All France

lies within your grasp, and, instead of taking advantage of your

good fortune, you lay it humbly at the feet of Louis. We have it in

our power to dictate terms, while this retreat exposes us to have

them dictated to ourselves."

"Field-marshal," said the duke, haughtily, "you forget that you

speak to your commander-in-chief."

"Yes--to remember that I speak to the Duke of Savoy--"

"With the head of your house," interrupted the duke, "to whom you

owe respect."

"I accord it with all my heart. Precisely because the Duke of Savoy

is the chief of our house, do I implore him not to turn his back

upon the road which lies open to fame and renown, but to advance

bravely to the front, as becomes the friend and ally of the

emperor."

Victor Amadeus put his hand up to his head. "Excuse me--I am not

equal to the holding of a council of war, nor do I intend to have my

commands discussed. We go back to Piedmont."

"Then I must submit," said Eugene, mournfully. "But I crave

permission to ask one question of my kinsman."

"Say on," answered the duke, wearily.

"Does your highness propose to desert the cause of the emperor, and

renew your alliance with France? Ah, you smile! You smile to think

that I should be so unpractised in the art of diplomacy, as to

expect a direct answer to such an inquiry. But I entreat you to

remember, that your defection concerns not only your honor but mine

also."

"My dear Eugene," said the duke, mildly, "you are anxious without

any grounds for anxiety. At your solicitation, and from my own

convictions of duty, I became the ally of the emperor; I have never

reaped any advantage from the alliance, and yet I have remained

perfectly loyal. France has made me many offers, every one of which

I have rejected. So, make yourself easy on the score of my good

faith, and let us change the subject. To what chance do I owe the

pleasant surprise of this visit from you?"

"I have the honor to bring letters to your royal highness from the

emperor," answered Eugene, presenting his dispatches. "I owe it to

my relationship with your highness, that I was allowed by your

sentries to effect my entrance here."

"Of course, of course. Everybody knows in what high esteem I hold

Prince Eugene. Verily I believe you to be the most popular man in

the army, and your brown cassock to inspire more respect than my

field-marshal's uniform. And now to study the emperor's letter. I

say study, for his majesty will write to me in Latin, and I am no

great scholar."

"While your highness is occupied," said Eugene, rising, "I will

retire to the window." He crossed the room, and, entering the

embrasure, was completely lost to view behind its hangings.

There was a silence of some duration. The duke studied his Latin,

while Eugene looked out of the window. Suddenly, without any

previous formality of knocking, the door leading to the antechamber

flew open, and the voice of the old nurse was heard.

"Your highness," said she, as though communicating a most agreeable

piece of news, "your highness, here is the French ambassador. I--"

"Peace, Annetta, peace!" cried Victor Amadeus. But Annetta was too

much interested to hear, and she went on with great volubility:

"Here he is; I passed him through. Everybody mistook him for Prince

Eugene--"

"Annetta, hold your tongue!" cried the duke, in a thundering voice.

"Ay, your highness, ay," was the reply of the old woman, who,

stepping back, opened the door and called out:

"Count Tesse, his highness expects you; come in."

And, to be sure, there walked in a gentleman wearing the identical

brown cassock, with its brass buttons, which was known as the

costume of Prince Eugene of Savoy!

Victor Amadeus, in despair, sprang from his chair, and made a

deprecatory movement by which he hoped to prevail upon the count to

retreat. But he only looked bewildered; and his bewilderment

increased to positive consternation, when the curtains opened, and

the veritable Eugene stepped out and surveyed him with undisguised

contempt.

"My dear Eugene," said the duke, in a conciliatory voice, "you see

how pertinaciously I am besieged by these Frenchmen. Here, for

instance, is Count Tesse. This is his third attempt to force an

interview with me, and he has gained his end by bribing my silly old

nurse to admit him under the garb of one to whom no one here would

dare deny entrance. Count Tesse is an envoy of the King of France,

and in your presence I intend to show him that no offer, however

brilliant, can induce me to forsake my imperial ally of Austria."

"I am perfectly convinced of your loyalty," said Eugene, with an

ironical smile, "and, to prove my trust, I beg permission to

withdraw. I have the honor to bid you good-evening."

So saying, Eugene inclined his head to the duke, and, paying no

attention whatever to his double, passed on.

With a saddened heart he returned to his barracks. He was met by the

Prince de Commercy, holding aloft a huge placard. "The bulletin! The

bulletin!" cried he. "The crisis is past, and the duke is safe."

"We, however, my friend, are in great danger. We are not driven from

French territory by our enemies, but by our pretended friends. Ah!

Victor Amadeus has this day inflicted upon me a wound more painful

than that of the Janizary's arrow at Belgrade. He has withered my

laurels at the very moment when my hand was extended to pluck them."

"Then he abandons us, and declares himself for France?" asked De

Commerey.

"If that were all, we could bear his defection, for we would have

one enemy more--that is all. Instead of which, we have a double-

faced friend who will have far more power to injure us by his

treachery in our own camp, than by his hostility in that of the

enemy. I will warn the emperor, as it is my duty to do; but he will

be dazzled by the fine promises of the duke, and disregard my

warning. [Footnote: Every thing happened exactly as Eugene

predicted. The Duke of Savoy retained command of the imperial army

for three years, during which he played into the hands of Louis

XIV., condemning the allied forces to total inaction, until France

had complied with all his exactions, when he declared himself for

Louis, and accepted the rank of a general in the French army. The

Prince de Commercy was so exasperated that he challenged the duke,

but the challenge was refused.] Meanwhile, as long as Victor Amadeus

wears his mask, should we even wrest a victory in spite of his

intrigues, he will manage to deprive us of all its advantages. He

will sell us to France, of that you may be sure."

CHAPTER V.

THE MARQUIS STROZZI.

"Then you think that Strozzi will not recognize me?" asked

Barbesieur de Louvois.

"I know it," replied Carlotta. "His memory is a blank from which

every image, except that of his wife, has been effaced."

"Does he love her still?"

"Unhappily he does," sighed Carlotta.

"My good girl," said Barbesieur, trying to look amiable, "pray don't

be so concise. Tell me the condition of the marquis, at once: I did

not come to this old owl's roost for pastime. I came to see what

could be done to restore its unhappy lord to reason. That you are

observing, I remember; you proved it by the good care you took of my

sister Laura."

"My lord, you jest; but the flight of the marchioness has disgraced

me. She outwitted me, and I shall hate her to the end of my days."

"Verily I believe you," laughed Barbesieur, as he saw the glitter of

her pale-green eyes. "I see in your face that you know how to hate.

But you must excuse me if I am amused when I think I see you

watching the doors like a she-Cerberus, while that sly creature was

flying out of the chimney. But never mind her: I want to talk with

you of her husband. I know that he was confined in a mad-house; but,

having occasion to see if he was sane enough to do me a service, I

found out that he had been discharged as cured, and had retired

within himself. Now, good Carlotta, tell me his veritable

condition."

"He never has been sane since the flight of the marchioness. The

morning after, when, in spite of our knocking and calling, we

received no answer, I set Julia to watch the doors (for I thought

she was merely trying to frighten us, and would make her escape

while we were away), and went to consult the marquis as to what we

must do. When we returned, Julia assured us that she had not heard a

breath since I had been away."

"And I suppose that the marquis forced the doors?"

"Oh, no, my lord," replied Carlotta, bitterly. "He was so fearful of

displeasing her that he resisted all my importunities to break them

open. He knocked and begged so humbly for admission, that I fairly

cried with rage. This lasted for hours. Finally he fell on his knees

and cried like a child, promising, if she would open the door, to

give her her freedom, and never imprison her again. Then he swore by

the memory of his father that he would go to Rome and get a divorce

for her. It was shameful; and at last I cried out for passion, and

told him to get up and behave like a man. But all in vain. Suddenly

Julia came running to say that, while the marquis had been lying

before the parlor door, she had forced the one that led to the

sitting-room, and that the marchioness had escaped."

"What did Strozzi do when he heard this? Whine louder?"

"Oh, no! He sprang up, rushed into the rooms, and began to search

for her."

"I suppose you helped, like good dogs after their game?"

"Of course, for it seemed impossible that she should have gotten out

by any but supernatural means. But at last we were obliged to accept

the fact of her flight, wonderful as it was, and we sat down. Not so

the marquis. He appeared to think that she had been transformed into

a mouse, for he ran about, opening boxes, looking under tables,

occasionally stopping to roar like a wild beast, or falling on his

knees and weeping. Then he would begin his hunt again, and this

lasted the whole day. We asked him to take some rest, and let his

servants be sent out to search the woods, but he gave us no answer,

still going round and round until dusk, when he called for lights.

He kept up his search the whole night; and when the sun rose, and we

awoke, we found him running to and fro, from one room to the other.

In vain we pressed him to eat or to rest, he spoke not a word to any

of us. Finally, one of the men laid hands on him to force him to sit

down, when he drew back and struck him with such force that the

blood spirted from his face, as he fell full length on the floor.

The marquis went on in this manner for a week, each day growing

paler and feebler, until at last he staggered like a drunken man."

"Unhappy lover!" exclaimed Barbesieur, with a shrug.

"Finally, the physician we had sent for came from Turin. By this

time the marquis had fallen from exhaustion, and lay asleep. He was

lifted to bed, and four men were set to watch him; for the doctor

expected him to be violent when he waked. And so he was. He tried to

leap out of bed, and was finally bound hand and foot. After a while,

came his cousin from Venice, who took charge of him and of his

property."

"Yes, to my cost," growled Barbesieur. "for he swindled me out of my

pension."

"The Marquis Balbi-Strozzi inherits the estate, if the Marquis

Ottario dies without heirs," said Carlotta.

"The Marquis Ottario will not be such an ass as to die without

heirs," cried Barbesieur, impatiently. "He shall be reconciled to

his wife, or he shall marry some other woman, and beget children.

The devil! He is a young man, and nobody dies of love, nowadays."

"He looks like a man of eighty," said Carlotta.

"He is much changed, then?"

"You would not know him, my lord."

"Perhaps not, but he will recover his youth with his health. What

does he do all day, Carlotta? What does he say?"

"My lord, he says nothing, except an occasional word to his valet.

As for what he does, he is forever shut up in his laboratory."

"Laboratory? What sort of a laboratory?"

"A room which, immediately after his return, he had fitted up like a

great kitchen. When the alterations had been made, he went to Turin,

and came home with the entire contents of an apothecary shop, with

which the shelves of his laboratory are filled. I helped him to

place his jars and phials, but much against my will, for he calls me

ugly names."

Barbesieur laughed. "Do tell me what he calls you?"

"My lord, you may laugh, but you would not like to answer to the

name of 'Basilisk.'"

"To be sure, 'Floweret' would be much more appropriate to your style

of beauty, Carlotta; but let that pass, and go on with your

narrative. What is Strozzi about, in this laboratory?"

"How do I know, my lord? He cooks and evaporates his messes; then

runs to his table and reads in some mouldy old parchments; then

hurries back to the chimney and stirs his pipkins--then back to the

table--and so on, all day long."

"But, my angelic Carlotta, if nobody is allowed to enter the

laboratory, how came you to be so admirably posted as to Strozzi's

movements?"

Carlotta looked perplexed. "My lord, there is a little hole in the

door that leads out to the corridor, and sometimes I have thought it

but right to watch our dear lord, that he might do himself no harm."

"Which means that you bored a hole in the door by way of

observatory. Nay--do not deny it; I respect your thirst for

knowledge. Does he never leave his laboratory?"

"Oh, yes, my lord. He writes a great deal in his cabinet. All his

orders are transmitted in that way. Last week the steward made a

mistake in his accounts--"

"To his own prejudice?"

"My lord," said Carlotta, with a hoarse laugh, "no, to that of the

marquis. When he discovered it, he wrote underneath, 'Two thousand

florins unaccounted for. If this occurs a second time, you are

discharged.'"

"Good, good!" cried Barbesieur. "Then he is returning to his senses.

He receives no company?" added he.

"How should he? He knows nobody, and has forgotten every thing

connected with his past life."

"But you told me that he still remembered the marchioness?"

"As for her, my lord, he loves her as madly as ever. He stands

before her portrait, weeping by the hour, and the table is always

set for two persons. Every morning he goes into the garden and makes

a bouquet, which, he lays upon her plate before he takes his seat."

"Poor Strozzi! Sane or mad, he will always be a dreamer!" said

Barbesieur. "Where is he now?"

"In the garden, my lord; for it is almost the hour for dinner, and

he is in the conservatory gathering flowers for the empty plate."

"Show me the way. I am curious to know whether he has forgotten his

brother-in-law and benefactor."

CHAPTER VI.

INSANITY AND REVENGE.

Barbesieur followed Carlotta to the garden. They were walking

silently down the great avenue that led to the conservatory, when,

at some distance, they beheld advancing toward them the figure of a

man. His step was feeble and slow; his black garments hung loosely

about his shrunken limbs; his face was bloodless, like that of a

corpse, his cheeks hollow, his large eyes so sunken that their light

seemed to come from the depths of a cavern. His sparse hair, lightly

blown about by the wind, was white as snow; his long, thin beard was

of the same hue.

"Who is that strange-looking old man?" asked Barbesieur.

"That, my lord, is the Marquis Strozzi!"

"Impossible!" cried Barbesieur, with a start.

"I told you. my lord, that he looked like a decrepit old man," said

Carlotta.

"And truly he is not a very seductive-looking personage," answered

Barbesieur. "But we must try if, in this extinguished crater, there

be not a spark by which its fire may be rekindled. Leave me,

Carlotta. I must have no third person here to divert Strozzi's

attention from myself."

"Shall I not announce you, my lord?" asked Carlotta, who was dying

of curiosity to see the meeting.

"Not at all, my angel. Go back to the castle--not by that winding

path, if you please, but by this wide avenue. And--be alert in your

movements, for I shall watch you until yonder door closes upon your

youthful charms, and hides them from my sight."

Carlotta looked venomous, but dared not tarry, and Barbesieur

followed her with his eyes until he heard the clang of the ponderous

castle-door behind her. He then confronted the living spectre that,

by this time, was within a few feet of him.

"God's greeting to you, brother-in-law," cried he, in a loud,

emphatic voice, while he grasped Strozzi's poor, wan hands, and held

them within his own.

The marquis raised his dark, blank eyes, then let them fall again

upon the bouquet which Barbesieur had so unceremoniously crushed.

"Sir," said he, gently, "do release my hand, for see--you are

bruising my flowers."

"Sure enough, he does not recognize me," said Barbesieur, relaxing

his hold; while Strozzi, unmindful of his presence, caressed his

flowers, and smoothed their crumpled leaves.

"She loves flowers," murmured the poor maniac.

Barbesieur took up the words. "Yes," said he, "yes; my sister Laura

loves flowers. Pity she is not here to see them."

The marquis shivered. "Who speaks of my Laura?" said he.

"I,--I, her brother," bawled Barbesieur, looking straight into

Strozzi's eyes. "I spoke of her, and, by G-d, I have a right to call

her, for I am her brother Barbesieur!"

Strozzi extended his hand, and an imbecile smile flitted over his

ghastly face. "Ah! then, you love her?" asked he, mournfully.

"Of course I love her," was the lying response. "You remember--do

you not--that you were indebted to me for your marriage with Laura

Bonaletta?"

"Bonaletta!" screamed Strozzi. "There is no Laura Bonaletta; her

name is Laura Strozzi, the Marchioness Strozzi, my wife! Remember

that, sir--remember it."

"To be sure, to be sure," murmured Barbesieur; "he has forgotten

everybody but that tiresome Laura. Let us see if we cannot stir up

his memory to another tune."

Strozzi meanwhile had passed on, and, with his eyes fixed on his

flowers, was slowly making his way to the castle. Barbesieur

followed, though the poor lunatic seemed to have no consciousness of

his presence. They walked on together in silence, until they had

reached the castle, and entered the dining-room, where dinner was

served.

Strozzi went up to the table, laid his offering on the plate, and

bowed:

"Will you allow me to take my seat?" said he, humbly, while he took

a chair opposite, which old Martino had drawn back for his

accommodation.

"Do you see, my lord?" said Martino to Barbesieur; "he imagines the

marchioness present at all his meals."

"He must be undeceived," said Barbesieur, roughly.

"I beseech you, signor," said the old man, "leave him in error; for,

if you undeceive him, you will rob him of the only glimpse of

happiness that remains to him."

"I shall make the attempt, nevertheless," replied Barbesieur, in a

tone that admitted of no further remonstrance, while he advanced to

the table, and seated himself in the empty chair.

The marquis started, and his brow darkened. "Sir," said he, "that is

the head of the table--the place of the Marchioness Strozzi."

"I know it," was the reply, "and, as soon as she makes her

appearance, I will give it up.--Martino, serve the soup; I am

hungry." So saying, he tossed the bouquet to the valet, and poured

out some wine.

At this, Strozzi sprang up, and, staring at Barbesieur, with eyes

that glowed like the orbs of a wild animal--"Sir," exclaimed he,

"you are an insolent intruder!"

"I know it," cried Barbesieur--"and what next?"

The marquis gazed in bewilderment at the threatening face of his

self-invited guest, and then, slowly turning around, prepared to

leave the room. Barbesieur rose and followed him.

At the door of his cabinet he stopped and cried out:

"Let the marshal of the household see to it that no one intrudes

upon my privacy!"

And, with a gesture of offended dignity, he entered the room.

Barbesieur, however, was immediately behind him, and they had no

sooner crossed the threshold than he locked the door, and put the

key in his pocket.

"Now, I have him," thought he, "and I shall begin my experiments."

"Sir," said Strozzi, alarmed, "why do you persecute me?"

"I want you to say if you know me," answered Barbesieur, dominating

the madman with the calm, powerful glance of reason.

Strozzi shook his head, murmuring, "No, sir, no. I do not know you."

"But I know YOU, Strozzi, my good fellow. You are my beloved

brother-in-law, the husband of my sister Laura, who forsook you so

shamefully, because she did not love you."

The shaft had pierced. A gleam of returning reason shot athwart

Strozzi's face, and a faint color rose to his cheek.

"Not love me!" echoed he, tearfully; "whom, then, does she love?"

Barbesieur laid the weight of his great hands upon Strozzi's

shoulders, and looked steadfastly in his eyes. Raising his voice to

the utmost, he shouted: "I will tell you whom she loves, and mark me

well, Strozzi. She loves Prince Eugene of Savoy!"

"Eugene of Savoy!" shrieked the wretched creature. "Eugene of Savoy!

Ah, yes, I remember. I hate him, and he must die!"

"Ay, that's it!" cried Barbesieur, cheerily, "that's it. He must

die; and when he is dead, Laura will love the Marquis de Strozzi."

"You think so?" asked Strozzi, laying his tremulous hand upon

Barbesieur's, great firm arm.

"I know it. The very moment Prince Eugene dies, Laura's heart is

yours."

"He must die! He must die!" murmured Strozzi, clasping his

attenuated fingers, and looking imploringly into Barbesieur's face.

"Ay, that must he, and you are the man that shall take his life.

Your honor demands it of you."

"Yes, my honor," repeated Strozzi, "my honor. I thank you, sir, for

your goodness to me. You are the first person that ever advised me

to avenge myself on Eugene of Savoy. You are the only person that

ever advised me to take his life, and I believe you, and trust you.

Yes, sir, take my word for it, Eugene of Savoy shall die!"

"How will you go about it?" asked Barbesieur.

An expression of cunning was seen to steal over the face of the

madman, as he replied, "That is my secret, sir."

"I will tell you how to make an end of him," cried Barbesieur,

patting him on the shoulder. "Poison him!"

Strozzi gazed with astonishment at his brother-in-law, and forthwith

conceived a profound respect for his cleverness. "Did you know

that?" said he, with a silly smile. "Did you know that I meant to

poison him?"

"To be sure I did, and I came here to work with you in your

laboratory, until we concoct the right dose for him."

"Did you know that I had a laboratory?" asked Strozzi, in a whisper.

"And did you know that I was trying to find a brave, beautiful

poison that would kill him like a pistol-shot, or a good stab under

the ribs?"

"I knew it all, and I came to help you."

"I thank you, sir, I thank you! Give me your hand. I take you for my

friend, and trust you. Come with me to my laboratory."

So saying, he passed his arm within that of his brother-in-law, and

led him to the opposite end of the room. Barbesieur laid his hand on

the bolt, but the door was locked.

"You see," said Strozzi, waxing confidential, "I keep this door

always locked, for let me tell you, my dear friend, that Eugene of

Savoy has surrounded my castle with a regiment of dragoons, who are

his spies. That is the reason why I never talk to anybody--I am so

afraid that my people will betray me to Prince Eugene's dragoons.

Luckily, they have never found out the secret of my laboratory, for

I always carry the key in my pocket. Here it is." He took out his

key and unlocked the door, but before opening it he addressed

Barbesieur in a solemn whisper:

"My dear friend, before you enter my sanctuary, swear to me, by the

memory of my dear departed wife, that you will not betray its

secrets to Prince Eugene's dragoons."

"I swear, my dear Strozzi, by sun, moon, and stars--"

Strozzi shook his head, and folded his hands reverently. "No, no;

swear by the memory of my sainted Laura."

Barbesieur swore, and the door was opened.

"Come in," said Strozzi.

"And may all the gods of vengeance bless my entrance hither!"

muttered Barbesieur, between his teeth.

The room was as Carlotta had described it. Its long shelves were

filled with jars and phials, and over the chimney was a wide mantel,

with porcelain pipkins, retorts, glass tubes, and flasks.

"Ah," cried Barbesieur, taking a phial from its shelf, "this is a

precious beverage, that lulls one to sleep or to death, as one's

friends may prescribe."

"Yes--it is laudanum," replied Strozzi. "A painless dagger, an

invisible sword of justice in the hands of the elect. It was the

basis of all the wonderful preparations of Katherina de Medicis.

There was a woman! Why did I not know her, and learn of her the

precious secrets of her laboratorium? From my youth, I have studied

chemistry, and I had a beautiful room in Venice, where I used to

work with the famous Chiari. But we never discovered Katherina's

secret."

"What secret, dear Strozzi?" inquired Barbesieur.

"The secret of killing people by fumes, which left no trace whatever

of their action on the body," answered Strozzi, with an awakening

gleam of wickedness in his eyes.

"And you believe that there are such delicate, ethereal little

ministers of vengeance?"

"Do I believe it?--Why, to their agency Katherina owed her elevation

to the throne of France. Nobody knows this better than I, for my

ancestor Filippo Strozzi was her friend and relative, and their

correspondence now is in the archives of the family, at Venice. I am

indebted to the letters of Katherina for much of my knowledge of

chemistry."

"And so you found out from her correspondence how she managed to

become Queen of France?" asked Barbesieur, anxious to indulge

Strozzi's sudden fit of garrulity.

"I did," was his complacent reply, while he nodded his head

repeatedly, and stroked his long, white beard. "When Katherina came

to France, she came as the bride of the Duke of Orleans, the second

son of Francis I. There seemed no chance for HER to be a queen, for

the dauphin was a lusty young fellow who was already betrothed to

the beautiful Infanta of Spain. But Katherina had no mind to let the

infanta reign in France, so she invited the dauphin to her castle of

Gien, and took him to her conservatory. There was a beautiful rare

flower there, which had a strong perfume. Katherina directed his

attention to it, but advised him not to hang over it too long, as it

never failed to give HER the headache, if she approached it too

closely. The dauphin laughed, and was not to be frightened away from

a flower, because of the headache. Moreover, the odor was

delightful, and he would not be warned. That day he had a headache;

the next, he was pale and feeble, and in less than a week, he died,

and nobody the wiser, except Katherina."

"And he died, really from the odor of a flower?"

"Yes. from a flower which Katherina had perfumed for his use, my

dear friend. And do you know how she made away with Joanna of

Navarre, who had guessed the secret of the dauphin's death, and had

already hinted her suspicions to her brother Francis?"

"No, I never heard of it. Upon my word, Strozzi, you interest me

exceedingly."

"Do I? Well, I will tell you more, then. Katherina made a present to

Joanna of a pair of embroidered gloves. The day after she wore them

she was dead. What do you think of that?--And did you ever hear how

the Prince of Porcia died--he who advised the dauphin to divorce his

wife because she had been married for eight years and had borne him

no children?" continued Strozzi, with increasing volubility.

"I confess my ignorance, Strozzi; do enlighten me."

"I will, sir. The prince received a present from Katherina (she was

a great hand to make presents). This time it was a flask of fine

Italian oil for his night-lamp, which oil, in burning, emitted a

delicate perfume. By the time the flask was emptied, the prince had

gone the way of all flesh."

"And all this because of Queen Katherina's science?"

"And all this because of Queen Katherina's science!" echoed Strozzi.

"But you have not yet hit upon her secret yourself?"

"Not yet; but I think I am on the track, and hope to discover it in

time to try it on Prince Eugene."

Barbesieur rose from his seat, and, coming toward Strozzi, struck

him on the shoulder. "Now, Strozzi, look at me attentively, and try

to understand what I am about to say to you. I will help you to seek

this poison. Do you hear?"

"Yes," said Strozzi, with a cunning leer. "Yes, I hear. You will

help me to seek the poison for Prince Eugene."

"Good," replied Barbesieur. "Now, look at me full in the eyes. Look,

I tell you!" repeated he, as Strozzi's face began to relapse into

imbecility. "I have found the poison."

Strozzi uttered a triumphant yell, but Barbesieur silenced him. "Pay

attention while I tell you how I became possessed of it. I was by,

when La Voisin was put to the torture in La Chambre ardente, and I

heard her confession. I was deputed to search for her papers; and

before I delivered them up you may be sure that I examined them, to

see what I could make out of them for my own profit. I found various

receipts for love-potions, as well as for the renowned poudre de

succession of the Countess Soissons; but of that anon. Do you mark

me, Strozzi?"

"Oh, sir," cried Strozzi, trembling in every limb, "speak--speak

quickly, or I shall die of suspense!"

Barbesieur then, emphasizing each word, replied: "I found a

parchment on which were inscribed these words: 'Receipt for

procuring death by inhalation. Queen Katherina de Medicis.'"

"That is it, that is it," howled Strozzi, and in his ecstasy he

flung his arms around Barbesieur's great body. But suddenly his

countenance became expressive of distrust, and his eye had a deadly

glitter, like that of a snake.

"But will you give it to me? Where is it? I warn you, do not trifle

with me, for you never shall leave this laboratory until I have it!"

Meanwhile he made a furtive movement toward his breast.

But Barbesieur had seen the gesture, and with his powerful grasp he

clutched Strozzi's hand, and withdrew it armed with a poniard of

fine, glistening steel. Flinging it with such force against the wall

that it buried itself in the masonry, Barbesieur gazed for a moment

at the poor fool whose teeth were chattering with fear; then leading

him to a seat--

"Come," said he, "let us talk like men. We are neither enemies nor

rivals; we are brothers, having one and the same interest at stake."

"Yes, sir," murmured Strozzi, obsequiously.

"Well, then, look at me. Did you ever see me before?"

Strozzi raised his obedient eyes and looked--for a while, in blank

amazement. But gradually his black orbs dilated, and a sudden flash

of intelligence crossed his face. He breathed hard.

"I think, sir, I think you are--are--ah, yes! I know. You are Count

Barbesieur de Louvois."

"Right, right," cried Barbesieur. "Laura Strozzi's brother."

"Are you the brother of my darling Laura?" cried Strozzi. "If you

are, you are welcome, sir. Oh, if she were but alive to see you!"

"Alive? What do you mean? Where do you suppose her to be?"

"She is dead," replied Strozzi, his eyes overflowing with tears.

"Dead--my own, my precious angel!"

"Of what did she die?" asked Barbesieur, highly amused at poor

Strozzi's grief.

Strozzi shook his head. "No one on earth knows, sir. She must have

dissolved in a sunbeam, and gone back to heaven, for her corpse was

never found here below."

"Strozzi, you are mistaken," exclaimed Barbesieur, with an

authoritative gesture. "Mark my words, and believe them, or I shall

be very angry. The Marchioness Laura is not dead. She lives here on

earth, not far away from you."

"She lives!" repeated Strozzi, starting from his seat and falling at

Barbesieur's feet. "Tell me where she is. Let me go, let me go, and

bring her home. Come--come with me!"

"Wait a minute. She is living with Eugene of Savoy, disgracing you

and me both. Before you bring her home, you must take the life of

her paramour, and just as soon as you have done that, she will be

freed from the spell that binds her, and will love nobody but you."

"Ah, he shall die," muttered Strozzi.

"Yes, he must die, and you must kill him. But _I_ shall furnish the

means. And now to work, to prepare the ambrosia that shall give him

immortality!"

CHAPTER VII.

THE AMBROSIA.

Thanks to the illness of the Duke of Savoy, the summer campaign of

1692 was of short duration. The allies had dispersed and retired to

winter-quarters; the imperial army had retreated to Piedmont; and

the officers in command of the several divisions had betaken

themselves to Turin to enjoy the festivities that followed the

recovery of Victor Amadeus.

Eugene had been invited with the rest; but he gave his health as an

excuse for avoiding the changeable winds of Turin, and seeking the

balmy atmosphere of Nice, where, having found comfortable quarters

for his troops, he proposed to pass the coming winter.

Victor Amadeus made great pretence of regret at Eugene's absence;

but, truth to tell, he was not sorry to escape the scrutiny of his

clear-sighted cousin, who, for his part, was happy beyond expression

in the devotion of his men, and the companionship of his Laura.

Here in the peaceful seclusion of the obscure little village of

Nice, Eugene and Laura enjoyed unalloyed happiness. The fishermen

and sailors, that formed the principal part of its population, knew

nothing of the history of the grand Austrian officer that had come

to live among them. In their eyes, the beautiful signora was his

wife, as a matter of course; and they sunned themselves in the

radiance of her beauty, without ever giving a thought to the nature

of the ties that bound her to the field-marshal.

They were without an obstacle to their happiness. Eugene, sitting at

a table covered with paper and charts, wrote dispatches, and planned

his next campaign; while, on an ottoman at his side, Laura read or

embroidered, often interrupting her occupation to gaze at his

beloved countenance.

As for him, his mind was clearer, his hand was firmer, his spirit

seemed to dominate every subject of its contemplation, when she was

by. Oftentimes he paused in his labors to watch the delicate outline

of her sweet face, and, when their eyes met and they exchanged a

loving smile, he felt that there was a communion of hearts that

beggared language, and would have no interpreter but a glance.

They were sitting together on the perron of their villa, which

looked out upon the shores of the Mediterranean. The door leading to

the drawing-room was open, exposing to view a harp from which Laura

had just risen. Before them lay the boundless expanse of the ocean,

blue with reflected azure from heaven; and, like some soft, weird

melody to their ears, was the murmuring of the waves, that kissed

the smooth, white beach before them. Elsewhere all was silent, for

Nature seemed to listen--unwilling, by a sound of stirring leaf, to

break the delicious stillness.

On a sudden, a wild scream was heard in the air above, and a

vulture, cleaving the clouds, flew over their heads. Laura's smiling

face was upturned to reply to some loving expression of Eugene's;

but when the vulture's scream was heard, she rose to her feet, and

with a slight shudder followed its flight until it lessened to a dim

speck on the horizon.

"What has disturbed you, dearest?" asked Eugene.

"Nothing," whispered she. "And yet I am a miserable coward. Even

this vulture's scream has startled me. It seems like an ill omen."

"Why, my darling, why should a vulture's scream be ominous?"

"Do not laugh at me, Eugene; but my old nurse used always to cross

herself when a vulture was in sight, and if it screamed, she wept,

for she said it betokened the approach of misfortune."

"Why should you share the superstition of your nurse, dearest?"

"Because I myself once heard the scream," said Laura, growing very

pale. "I was standing with my nurse on a balcony of Bonaletta

Castle, and she was making wreaths of pomegranate and orange from

the blossoms I plucked. Meanwhile she was telling me a tale about

some enchanted princess, to which I was listening with my whole

heart. Suddenly I heard the cry of a vulture, the old woman dropped

her flowers, clasped her hands, and cried out: 'Oh, my God! there is

woe at hand! Come, child, come to the chapel, and pray the Lord to

avert it,'"

"And it was averted by your dear prayers, was it not?" asked Eugene,

kissing her.

"Alas, no! Not many hours afterward, I was called to my mother's

room. She lay on her bed, dying,--in her hand, a crumpled letter.

The letter was from Barbesieur, and its contents were her death-

blow! Eugene, she never opened her eyes again!--And oh, how she

loved me--that dear mother!"

"Who that knows you can help loving you?" said Eugene, tenderly.

"Look at me, my treasure--look at me, and smile. What--tears?"

"I am thinking of my mother, dear, and of her wretched life. It

humiliates me to remember that she, who was a saint, suffered so

many sorrows, while I, her child, who have done nothing to merit it,

am too, too happy."

"Nothing to merit happiness? You, whose constancy and heroism I

could not dare to imitate? Ah, Laura, remember that before I knew

you, I was without hope, without trust, without love. You crossed my

path, and then my soul began to soar to God; for God is love, and he

that knows not love knows not what it is to adore his Creator. You

are not only the architect of my happiness, beloved, but that of my

religion."

Laura flung her arms around his neck, and rested her cheek against

his. "And you--you are my sun--the luminary of my life! Without you,

all is dark and void. Oh, Eugene! be prudent, love, and beware of

your enemies; they encompass you with snares. Do not go unarmed to

the barracks, for not long ago the soldiers saw a man following you

after dusk. They searched him, and found on his person a poniard,

and in his possession a purse of gold."

"We cannot deny that the dagger and bowl seem to be the order of the

day, in this land of bravi," returned Eugene, "and I am continually

warned that, dead or alive, the French are resolved to possess

themselves of my body. But between intention and execution there

lies a wide path, and in spite of prison and steel, I hope to tread

it safely. [Footnote: Eugene's own words.--See Armath, "Life of

Prince Eugene," vol. i, p. 51. ] So do not be unhappy on my account,

sweet one. Let me look in those dear eyes, and there read the poem

of our love--a love that death itself shall not overcome."

"No, not death itself," said Laura, repeating his words, and

nestling close to his heart. He laid his hands upon her head, and

blessed and kissed her.

"So would I love to die--so--resting on thy heart, and gazing into

thy face," murmured she, her eyes filling with tears of joyful

emotion.

"Die!" exclaimed he, shuddering. "Love cannot die. Through all

eternity, its choral hymn--"

He unclasped his arms, for steps were heard along the corridor, and

presently, within the frame of the open door, was seen an orderly

attached to the household. Laura retreated to the parlor, while

Eugene demanded the reason of an intrusion so untimely upon his

privacy.

"Your highness, a courier has arrived, with dispatches from the Duke

of Savoy. They are so important as to require immediate attention,

and he will deliver them to no hands but your own."

"Admit him," said Eugene, entering the drawing-room, and joining

Laura, who had taken a seat before her easel, and was preparing to

paint. "Shall I see the courier in my cabinet, or receive him here?"

said he.

"Remain here, my dearest, and let me hear the sound of your voice."

So saying, she drew the hangings together, and, in the deep

embrasure of the bay-window, was entirely concealed from view.

Gliding back into her seat, she raised her loring eyes to the canvas

whereon she was painting a portrait of her Eugene.

"I shall never, never catch the expression of those wonderful eyes,"

said she to herself. "This is their color, but where is their

heavenly light? How shall I ever transmit--"

She started, let fall her palette, and gazed, horror-stricken, at

the hangings. She had heard a voice, the tones of which, she knew

not why, made the blood freeze within her veins. These were the

words she heard: "Here, your highness, are my dispatches." Words

without significance, but Laura shivered from head to foot. With

trembling hand, she parted the hangings and looked out.

There, in the centre of the room, stood Eugene, in the act of

opening a sealed paper. For one moment, her eye rested tenderly upon

the beloved image; then she glanced quickly at the person who stood

by the door. He wore the Sardinian uniform, and stood in a

respectful posture, his eyes cast down.

But Laura? She stared at his swarthy face and bloodless lips, the

sunken cheeks, and beetle brow, with a strange repugnance that

almost shaped itself into some old, forgotten dislike.

"I must have seen him somewhere," thought she, "and the dim

remembrance of the countenance pains me terribly. If he would but

speak again! I surely would recognize that voice--that voice which

sounds to my ear like some retrospective agony of which I may have

dreamed long years ago."

Eugene still held the paper. He had opened it, and was turning it in

and out, with an expression of great surprise. "What am I to

understand by this mystification?" said he.

"Your highness," returned the courier, "the dispatches are secret,

and written with sympathetic ink. If you will hold them over a light

until a vapor begins to rise from them, the writing will appear."

Eugene rang and ordered a light. He stood smilingly, scrutinizing

the blank pages of his letter; the courier kept his eyes on the

floor, and Laura behind the hangings stood contemplating the scene,

her heart throbbing as though it would burst. She saw the orderly

place the wax-light upon the table, and Eugene advance and hold the

dispatch above it. She turned unconsciously toward the courier. His

eyes, no longer riveted on the floor, glared horribly at Eugene; and

in their glance were written manifest hatred and exultation.

For one moment Laura felt as though she were stiffening to stone:

then, dashing aside the curtains, she bounded to the table, crying

out with all the strength of her love:

"Eugene, 'tis Strozzi!" And, tearing the poisoned paper from his

hands, she flung it at the feet of the courier.

He sprang forward, and seized her in his arms. Eugene darted to her

rescue, and strove with all his might to free her from Strozzi's

grasp. But despair and insanity had lent him strength, and vain was

all striving to unlock his hands as they clutched her slender

throat, and threatened her with speedy death.

Eugene made one bound to the table, and snatched up his pistols. At

the same moment, a dagger gleamed in the air. Laura fell back with a

piercing cry. and Strozzi, kneeling over her prostrate body, covered

her face with kisses.

The sharp report of the pistol was heard--the murderer leaped up

into the air, and then dropped dead upon the floor. And close beside

him lay Laura with a poniard in her breast, whose hilt of diamonds

rose and fell with her quick breathing, and glistened brightly in

the rays of the setting sun that gilded the terrible picture.

Instinctively Eugene would have withdrawn the murderous weapon from

his darling's heart, but he felt his arm withheld, and turning

beheld Doctor Franzi.

The doctor shook his head, sadly. "Do not touch it," whispered he,

"or her life-blood will gush out, and she will die at once."

With a look of despair, the wretched man arose, and beckoned to the

doctor to follow him to the balcony.

"The truth," gasped he, while his eyes glared as if they would have

started from their sockets. "Must she die?"

"She will die instantaneously if the dagger is withdrawn. I am

familiar with the thrusts of these Venetian bravi--when they aim at

the heart, death follows the stroke immediately; but when they

strike the breast, it ensues with a gush of blood, at the withdrawal

of the weapon."

"Is there any--hope?"

The doctor knew not how to shape an answer to this heart-rending

appeal. He turned away his face, and Eugene understood the mute

reply.

"How long?" asked he, almost inaudibly.

"If it were any other woman, I should expect internal hemorrhage to

ensue within half an hour; but the strong will of the marchioness

will ward off death for the space of an hour."

Eugene stifled a groan. "O God! is there no, no help?"

"None. Science cannot prevail against the well-directed blow of a

Venetian dagger. But the marchioness will not suffer."

"No," sobbed Eugene, "for she dies; but I--I--"

"Go to her, my dear friend--go before she calls, for every exertion

she makes will hasten the end."

Eugene wrung his hands. "Not yet--I cannot. I must have a moment to

conquer this overwhelming anguish. Go to her yourself, doctor--tell

her--I--"

But the doctor was already in the parlor, and Eugene was alone. He

leaned over the balcony and stared out at the sea; the breeze had

freshened, and the sound of the waves as they dashed against the

shore seemed to mock at his agony. He looked above: the skies were

serene and indifferent to his misery. The sun was setting in a flood

of red and gold. Alas! alas! For Laura, it would rise no more!

But Eugene remembered that she had but an hour to live, and,

shuddering, he overcame his weakness and approached the dying girl.

She held out her hands, and smiled.

"Eugene," said she, "I long for air and light. May I be lifted out

upon the balcony?"

Eugene looked at Doctor Franzi, who beckoned to the servants. They

rolled a divan to the spot where the marchioness lay, and she was

placed upon it, and gently removed to the balcony. She thanked them

all for their kindness, and each member of her household kissed her

hand, and went away weeping. No one now remained with her save

Eugene and the doctor.

"Step aside for a moment, beloved," said she. "I would speak a few

words with our dear friend."

He obeyed, and retired out of hearing, but not out of sight. He

could not do that. They had but half an hour!

"Doctor," said Laura, "I must die, must I not?"

"All things are possible with God, but--"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Does Eugene know it?"

"Alas, he does!"

"Doctor, promise me that if in his grief he should forget to care

for his own welfare, you will watch over it as I would have done,

had Heaven permitted. As long as sorrow predominates over reason,

you will enter his room every morning, and speak these, my dying

words: 'Laura sends you her greeting, and bids you do all that you

can to preserve your health, and to overcome your sorrow.' Promise

me this."

"I promise," replied the doctor.

"And now, tell me. Is my enemy--is Strozzi dead?"

"The bullet went through his brain."

"May God forgive him, as I do!" murmured she. "And now, dear friend,

farewell! I thank you for all my happiness on earth, and bless you

with my latest breath for your kindness to Eugene and to me."

[Footnote: This attempt to poison Prince Eugene is historical.]

She gave him her hand, which he kissed, and, no longer able to

restrain his tears, he went back to the parlor. There on the floor

lay Strozzi stark and dead, his glazed eyes staring, as if in

defiance, to heaven. Doctor Franzi had the corpse removed, and threw

himself wearily upon a sofa. Presently he saw Laura's Italian

greyhound, with a piece of paper between its teeth, with which it

seemed to be playing. He was watching its motions, as people whose

minds are preoccupied with a great sorrow, are apt to watch some

particular object within view, when suddenly it howled, made a leap

into the air, and fell panting on the floor. The doctor stooped to

examine it. It was dying.

"Why, the poor little brute has been poisoned!" said he to Conrad.

Conrad shook his head. "Impossible!" replied he. "It has been with

me this whole day, and came with me hither not half an hour since."

"Stay," replied the doctor, picking up the bits of paper that lay

scattered over the carpet. He took them to the light, and held them

above it. In a few moments a white vapor mingled with green was seen

to rise in the air, and an odor of garlic pervaded the apartment.

"Come, Conrad," exclaimed the doctor; "leave the room quickly! Happy

it is for us that all these doors and windows are open, or my

curiosity would have cost me my life."

"And the marchioness?" asked Conrad, sadly.

The little French clock on the mantel struck the hour. "You hear,"

said the doctor. "She has not a half an hour to live."

Not half an hour to live! And Eugene knew it! For above the breaking

waves, above the tumultuous beating of his bleeding heart, even

above the tones of her dear voice, he heard the striking of that

clock.

But one half hour!--He was on his knees, her little hand locked in

his, and her eyes fixed upon his face, with a look of love such as

no human tongue had power to speak. But he could not bear to see her

so motionless; he feared that she was about to expire.

"Speak to me, my angel; say thou lovest me," sobbed he.

"I love thee!" said she, with a joyful smile. "Ah, Eugene, I have

spoken these words so often that earth and air, sky and sea, will

echo them forever."

"But thou--thou goest from me!"

"God has willed it thus. But, beloved, how beautiful to me is the

death that giveth life to thee! Ah, my sovereign! lord of my heart!

weep not for her who dies as woman loves to die!"

"Weep not for thee! Alas! shall I have courage to bear the burden of

the life thou hast purchased with thine own?"

"Yes, God will give thee strength to fulfil thy heroic destiny, my

Eugene. We have been very happy on earth, and in heaven He will

perfect our imperfect union. Farewell, beloved, farewell!"

"Oh, look at me once more!" cried Eugene. "Laura, Laura, speak to

me! O God! it cannot be that thou must die!"

She made no answer, but her fast-closing eyes were fixed upon his.

He bent closer and closer, and opened his arms, with a vain longing

to fold her to his heart. But he durst not! His embrace might

extinguish the feeble spark of life that glimmered yet for his

momentary consolation.

But his tears fell upon her face, and awakened her failing senses.

She spoke again, and the melody of her voice was like the faint

notes of an AEolian harp.

"Do not weep," murmured she. "I was happy. I will be near to thee in

spirit. I--"

A last sigh fluttered from her lips, and the AEolian harp was

silenced forever!

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BETROTHAL.

The Duchess of Orleans sat weeping in her cabinet, and yet she had

been several times reminded by her tire-women that monsieur awaited

her in the drawing-room. She held in her hand a letter--the apparent

cause of her unwillingness to move.

"It has terminated as I feared," thought she; "her short-lived

happiness has been purchased with her life. To think that her

relentless foe should have had no mercy upon her youth and beauty!

And so it is--to the good are apportioned tribulation and trials--to

the wicked, prosperity and long life! God is merciful, and allows to

those who are destined to burn in hell their short season of triumph

on earth. But I, who am no saint, will avenge my dear child's

murder, by exposing its instigators to public scorn. My poor,

darling Laura! God only knows how I am to bring it about, but He

will surely prompt the right words at the right moment. And now to

discharge the tiresome duties of the sacrifice I made to the

shameless exaction of Louis XIV.! Now for the act that befouls the

escutcheon of France with the blood of De Montespan's bastard!"

She folded her letter, and, putting it in her bosom, called with her

stentorian lungs, for Katharina.

The tire-woman, who had been anxiously awaiting the summons,

appeared immediately, and approached her mistress, in great haste to

commence.

"Katharina," began the duchess, "do not be provoked if I reject the

magnificent attire you have prepared for me to-night. I cannot wear

it."

Katharina drew back in terror. "So your royal highness does not

intend to appear at court to-night?"

"I intend to appear there, because I am compelled to do so,"

returned the duchess; "but I do not know that it is incumbent upon

me to be as gay as a peacock, on the occasion of my poor Philip's

betrothal to that girl of De Montespan's. To me it is more like a

funeral than a festival, so you may get out my suit of court

mourning. The skirt of black velvet, the train and head-dress of

purple."

"Is the Empress of Austria dead, that your royal highness should

wear purple?" asked Katharina. [Footnote: At the court of Louis

XIV., purple velvet was worn in the deepest mourning only.]

"A personage of more consequence to me than the Empress of Austria

is dead--an angel has taken her flight to heaven, and no royal

princess can replace her here below. Hush, Kathi--you need not open

your mouth to remonstrate, for my purple mourning I will wear, and

nobody in France shall hinder me."

Katharina knew this so well, that she inclined her head, and went

off in search of the costume, which, as Elizabeth-Charlotte never

lingered before her looking-glass, was donned in less than a quarter

of an hour. She returned to her cabinet, and gave a quick glance at

her image, as she passed before a large Venetian mirror, that

reached from floor to ceiling. She smiled, and began an apostrophe

to herself, after the following manner:

"You are unquestionably a homely woman; and, in the finery that

decks royalty, you look somewhat like the scarecrows I have seen in

gardens at home. But, soberly clad as you are at this moment, you

are not an unsightly or undignified woman, nor would my poor

murdered darling despise me, were she to see me now. Ah, Laura!

would that the battle of life were over for me, as it is for thee!

For the world has apportioned to me much vexation, but little

happiness."

She turned away from the mirror, with a sigh. "Well, I may not mourn

any longer. I must put on my court-face, and sing with old Luther:"

"It must be so,

That pain and woe

Will ever follow sin;

Then go your ways--"

The duchess was singing out this doggerel in a rough, loud

contralto, when her chamberlain appeared at the door, and announced

that his royal highness was waiting for her to descend.

"Tell monsieur not to let me detain him," replied she. "I will be

escorted to the Louvre by the Duke de Chartres. Hey, Kathi! come

with my wrappings!"

Kathi had just enveloped her highness's stout, robust form in a

cloak of purple velvet, when the little duke came skipping into the

room.

"Here I am, chere maman," cried he; "here is Cupid, ready to attend

on Venus."

The duchess replied with a glance of displeasure, and took his arm.

As they were crossing the corridor, she said: "Cupid was a fractious

and rebellious boy, and I remember that Venus had many a time to box

his ears for his misbehavior. You are quite right to liken yourself

to Cupid, for you are just as contrary as he--"

"And just as handsome?" asked the duke, coaxingly.

The duchess tried to suppress a smile. "You are a little puppy,"

said she; "and if I resemble Venus in no other way, I shall imitate

her maternal corrections, and let you feel the weight of my hand, if

you provoke me, sir." And so saying, she tumbled herself into the

coach.

"I have already felt its weight," sighed the young duke, "and a

right heavy hand it is, when it is lifted to chastise."

"Then take care not to deserve its chastisements. But now, Philip,

listen to me, and be serious. It is understood between us, that you

refuse to sign the contract--that you avow loudly your aversion to

marriage in general, and to Mademoiselle de Blois in particular; and

that you throw yourself at the feet of the king, and ask for two

years' delay."

"Oh, yes, maman, yes, of course," replied Philip, hurriedly. "I

understand it all perfectly. Ah, here we are at the Louvre! Allow me

to assist you to alight."

And the duke, vastly pleased that the maternal lecture was at an

end, leaped from the coach, and escorted his mother to the palace.

The royal family, with the nobles and dignitaries that were to

witness the signing of the contract, were in the king's cabinet. The

court awaited them in one of the magnificent rooms of state.

On a marble slab, supported by three gilded dolphins, lay a long

roll of parchment, and close by was an inkstand of gold, set with

sapphires and diamonds. The king was in an adjoining apartment,

anxiously waiting the arrival of the Duchess of Orleans and the

bridegroom-elect.

"Methinks," said Louis to monsieur, "that madame makes me wait."

As these words were uttered with great severity, the duke was

abashed, and scarcely knew what he way saying. "Your majesty,"

stammered he, "you know how--may I entreat of you--"

"Her royal highness the Duchess of Orleans, and the Duke de

Chartres," cried the gentleman usher.

Louis rose from his arm-chair, and advanced to greet his eccentric

sister-in-law. Suddenly he drew back, and looked like a Jupiter

Tonans.

"Madame," said he, eying the duchess from head to foot--from her

purple feathers to the very edge of her long purple-velvet train--

"madame, what means this extraordinary attire? Have you forgotten,

in one of your fits of absence, that you were invited, not to a

funeral, but to a betrothal?"

"Sire," replied the undismayed duchess, "I am not subject to fits of

absence; but I beg to apologize for my dress. It is appropriate to

my feelings, for I have just experienced a most painful loss."

"What member of your family is dead?" asked his majesty.

"Not a member of my family, but a beloved friend, has been foully

murdered."

"Murdered!" echoed Louis. "Who has been murdered!"

"Sire, I will tell you, but Monsieur Louvois must be by to hear the

recital."

Monsieur Louvois was summoned, and while awaiting his arrival, Louis

expressed a wish that the duchess would make her story as short as

possible; he was anxious to have this ceremony over.

"Sire, I shall do my best," was the reply.--"Ah," continued

Elizabeth-Charlotte, "here is Monsieur Louvois--Perhaps he can tell

your majesty why I am in mourning."

"I--I" said Louvois, with a defiant stare at his enemy. "I have not

the honor of being in the secrets of madame."

"But she has the misfortune to be in yours," cried the duchess.

"Sire, a few years ago, there appeared at your majesty's court a

young girl of extraordinary beauty and worth. She was one of my

maids of honor, and was as dear to me as my own child. Lovely,

innocent, and virtuous, as she was, she was an object of aversion to

her own kindred. She became ardently attached to a youth of rank

equal--I mean to say, superior to hers, against whom her relatives

entertained a prejudice that manifested itself by every species of

persecution. There could be no reasonable objection to the alliance,

but the lovers knowing that, for very hatred of them both, the

maiden's father would oppose their union, agreed to be married in

secret. They were betrayed, and you will scarcely believe me, your

majesty, when I tell you that the poor girl's own father and brother

deceived her by forged letters, and so arranged matters that they

came by night, and, substituting a man whom she detested, for her

lover, they obtained her signature to a fraudulent marriage."

"Her father did his duty," interrupted Louvois. "He had a right to

select her husband, and exercised his right. I hope that his majesty

is of the same opinion."

"Madame," said the king, taking no notice of Louvois' remark, "pray

continue your narrative."

"Your majesty, the miserable girl refused ever to acknowledge the

marriage. The man they had forced upon her imprisoned her for years,

giving out to the world that she was insane, but holding out to her

a promise of release, whenever she would recognize him as her

husband. She never would--she never did."

"But her lover--what was he about all this time?" asked Louis.

"He believed himself forgotten, nor could he discover whither his

betrothed had been conveyed by her tyrant. Finally by means that

seem almost miraculous, she effected her escape, and joined him;

and, believing herself to be his spouse before God, they lived

together as husband and wife."

"I should have regarded them as such," was the remark of the king.

"I hope that her unprincipled relatives did not seek to repeat their

sacrilege by any attempt to part her from him to whom she had

veritably plighted her faith."

Louvois could not contain himself. "Your majesty," cried he, "the

sacrilege was hers and not her father's. She was legally married,

and the tie that bound her to her lover was a crime!"

Louis contemplated his own illegitimate children, there present, and

Louvois' words roused his ire. "Sir," said he, "you mistake human

prejudices for principles. How can you presume to contend for the

sanctity of an infamous falsehood like that of a marriage ceremony

fraudulently performed?"

"Thanks, your majesty, thanks for those generous words," exclaimed

the duchess, joyfully. "They rehabilitate the memory of my darling,

who was as pure and chaste as she was constant and loving. In her

case, endurance of the world's contumely was heroism. She felt it to

be unjust, but bore it for the sake of her lover, and was happy. Her

relatives, however, urged, by their hatred of the poor child, made

use of her demented husband to avenge what they pleased to term

their outraged honor. They armed him with dagger and poison, and her

own brother brought him to the town where she was living, and led

him to her villa."

"What an unnatural and wicked brother," exclaimed the young Duke of

Maine, who had edged himself in to listen.

The duchess gave him a grateful smile, and continued her story:

"The murderer made an attempt to poison his rival. He was recognized

under his disguise by his wife, who darted forward to save her

lover's life. As she did so, the assassin drew from his bosom a

poniard and stabbed her to the heart,"

"Horrible!" was the exclamation of all the bystanders.

"Sire." resumed the duchess, "the woman so foully murdered by the

tool of her father and her brother,--she, whom I loved so dearly,

and whom your majesty's self honored by your attention, was Laura

Bonaletta--the daughter of Monsieur Louvois, and the sister of his

depraved son--Barbesieur."

"The Marchioness Strozzi!" cried the king, turning his indignant

eyes upon Louvois, who was vainly trying to effect a retreat.

"Sir," said Louis, "I hope you will be able to disprove this

dreadful charge, and convince her royal highness that she has been

misinformed."

"Sire, I am not aware that any guilt attaches to my actions as a

father. I married my daughter to the man whom I chose should be her

husband, and I hastened the marriage that I might save her from the

artful snare which Prince Eugene was laying for her large fortune."

"Sire," cried the duchess, "the whole world knows Prince Eugene to

be above mercenary considerations, and it also knows that had

Monsieur Louvois not driven him away from France, he would not now

be the most distinguished officer in the army of a foreign prince."

"Very true," returned the king.--"Louvois never showed himself to

have less penetration than when he undervalued the genius of Prince

Eugene. But this blunder we can pardon, so he but clear himself of

participation in the assassination of his daughter."

"That I can easily do, your majesty," replied Louvois. "I knew

nothing whatever of the attempt on Prince Eugene's life."

"Then how comes it that this intercepted letter from your own hand

speaks so knowingly of it to your son?--Sire," continued the

duchess, "this letter was sent to me by Victor Amadeus. The courier

to whom it had been confided was arrested by a vidette of the

duke's, and the letter forwarded to his highness. From my step-

daughter, the Duchess of Savoy, I hold my information; and it was

imparted to me at her husband's desire, that I might transmit it to

your majesty, and Louis XIV. might hear how Louvois vanquishes the

heroes that are opposed to him in war. Sire, not only your friends,

but your enemies, know that you hold such warfare in abhorrence."

"I do, indeed," cried Louis, "and I thank not only Victor Amadeus,

madame, but yourself, who have not shrunk from the ungrateful duty

of accusing a man whom many another would have feared, because he

was high in my estimation. I thank you that you have given me

occasion to vindicate my honor from the foul blot which this man

would have cast upon it. I say nothing of his cruelty to his unhappy

daughter, for that I leave to his Maker. But, as regards the attempt

on the life of Prince Eugene, it shall be investigated;--and woe to

him, should he be inculpated by the examination of these papers!--

Go, sir, and until your fame is cleared, consider yourself a

prisoner in your own house."

Pale and trembling, Louvois retreated from the royal presence.

Around the door of the cabinet were groups of high-born dames and

titled lords, who all drew back to let him pass. No one wished to

breathe the atmosphere that was tainted by the presence of a

suspected murderer; and the rumor of his disgrace spread so rapidly

through the palace, that it reached the room where the court was

assembled, and every man there turned his back upon the favorite

who, an hour before, had been greeted with courtesy and respect by

the proudest nobles in the land.

The king's eyes followed the bowed figure of his fallen minister

until it passed out of sight; then, as if nothing had happened, he

smilingly addressed the Duchess of Orleans:

"Madame, will you take the bride by the hand? I, myself, will escort

the bridegroom."

Elizabeth-Charlotte, who, in her sorrow for the tragical death of

Laura, had forgotten the occasion of her coming, gave a sudden

start, and her heart died within her. She turned her sharp eyes with

a searching look upon the Duke de Chartres, hoping for some

significant glance that would reassure her as to his intentions. But

the young duke's eyes were turned another way: he was following the

master of ceremonies, and making a profound inclination before the

king.

Madame dared no longer hesitate: she gave her hand to Mademoiselle

de Blois, and led her forward to the table where lay the dreaded

document.

At a signal from the king, the keeper of the seal advanced, and,

taking up the parchment, read the marriage contract of his royal

highness the Duke de Chartres with Mademoiselle de Blois. The duke's

marriage with the king's daughter entitled him to the grandes

entries du cabinet, and the entrees de derriere,--privileges highly

prized by the members of the royal family. The contract also

recognized Mademoiselle de Blois as a daughter of France, and gave

her a dowry of two millions of livres, several large estates, and a

complete parure of costly diamonds.

With the exception of madame, everybody was enraptured with the

royal munificence. Again she tried to meet her son's eyes, but they

were steadfastly fixed upon the hand of the king who had signed the

contract, and was in the act of placing it before his daughter.

Mademoiselle de Blois scribbled her name under that of her father,

and passed the pen over to the bridegroom. The decisive moment was

at hand. With fast-throbbing heart, the duchess bent forward to hear

her son's rejection of this insulting mesalliance, when lo! that

son, with a placid smile, accepted the pen, and signed!

A cry had well-nigh burst from his mother's lips, as, with every

show of respect, he presented her the pen. Speechless with anger,

she advanced her hand, but it was not to take the instrument of her

humiliation: it was to administer to her rebellious son a box on the

ear which resounded like a pistol-shot through the apartment, and

created considerable astonishment among the aristocratic guests

therein assembled. [Footnote: Historical.--See "Letters of the

Duchess of Orleans to the Princess of Wales."]

The young duke uttered a howl, and, rubbing his cheek, jumped behind

the hooped dress of his bride-elect.

"Madame!" exclaimed the king, "what means this violence?"

"Your majesty, I was killing a fly that had lit upon Philip's

cheek."

"It must be a robust fly, if it is not crushed to atoms," replied

the king, much amused.

The court, unable to withstand their merriment, burst into out--

simultaneous shout of laughter, under cover--of which Elizabeth-

Charlotte, with tearful eyes, signed the fatal document which

mingled the noble blood of Orleans with the muddy stream of

illegitimacy.

CHAPTER IX.

VENGEANCE.

So great had been the haste of the courtiers to spread the news of

Louvois' disgrace, that the very usher who opened the door that led

into the vestibule, performed his office with a superciliousness

which proved him to have heard it as well as his betters.

Louvois felt as if his grave were yawning before him. He had

forgotten that his carriage could not possibly have returned so

soon; and now he stood alone on the perron of the palace, staring up

and down the street in the vain hope of concealing himself in a

fiacre from the gaze of the curious. No sentinel saluted him, no

soldier presented arms, as, ashamed of his rich dress and sparkling

orders, which rendered him conspicuous, he walked on and on, an

object of curiosity to every passer-by. At length, on the Pont Neuf,

he met a dilapidated old hackney-coach, amid whose threadbare

cushions he was glad to retreat from observation.

On his arrival home, nobody came out to assist him to alight; for

how could the lackeys who were idling around the porte-cochere

surmise that the occupant of that shabby vehicle was their haughty

master?

He entered the hotel, and, without vouchsafing a word to the

astounded valets, ascended the staircase that led to his own private

apartments. But they came after him to ask whether he was

indisposed, and whether they could be of service.

Their offers were rejected with scorn; but Louvois thought it

politic to inform his own valet that, having been attacked with

sudden indisposition, he had been forced to leave the court-ball,

and return in a fiacre. While he was being divested of his rich

dress and long curled wig, the valet went on to announce that Count

Barbesieur had arrived from Italy, and was desirous of seeing his

father as soon as possible. A lady also had called to see his

excellency; and, having been told that he was at the great court-

festival, she had replied that he would be apt to return home early,

and she would await his arrival, for she had important business to

transact with him.

"Where is the lady?" asked Louvois.

"She is in her carriage at the side door of the hotel. Shall I ask

her in the drawing-room, your excellency?"

"Later," said Louvois. "I must first speak with my son."

"I am here," cried Barbesieur, who had silently entered the room.

"Leave us," said Louvois to the valet, "and when Count Barbesieur

has retired, admit the lady. I--"

He paused, and caught at the arm-chair for support. He had become

suddenly dizzy, his face grew scarlet, his eyes blood-shot, and his

breathing oppressed.

The valet hastened to his assistance, and offered him a glass of

water. He emptied it at a draught, but his hands shook so, that he

could scarcely hold the goblet, Barbesieur had thrown himself full

length on a sofa, whence he contemplated his father with the most

consummate indifference.

"You ought to be bled," said he, carelessly.

"I will do so. It may relieve me," replied he, panting. "Go," added

he to the valet, "go for Fagot."

The valet hurried off, and the father and son were left alone

together. The former lay gasping with his head flung back on a

cushion; the latter watched him closely, but without the merest

appearance of sympathy or interest.

After a pause, he spoke: "Father, have you forgotten my presence?"

Louvois opened his eyes wearily. "No; I have not forgotten it."

"You do not ask me about the result of my expedition," said

Barbesieur.

"Nor do you seem to think it incumbent upon you to ask wherefore I

suffer, or why I am here instead of being where I ought to be, at

the fiancailles of Mademoiselle de Blois," replied Louvois, whom his

son's indifference had stung to returning energy.

"What care I for the fiancailles of Mademoiselle de Blois?" answered

Barbesieur. "And as regards your indisposition, it is not the first

time that I have seen you similarly affected. These congestions

invariably leave you stronger than they find you; so let us pass on

to affairs more momentous. I have to inform you that my expedition

to Italy has resulted in a disastrous failure. Have you seen my

courier?"

"No, I have not seen him, but I know that you were guilty of sending

me written dispatches on a subject which pen should never have

recorded."

"Oh!" sneered the dutiful son, "you are better, I see, for you grow

abusive. Then I suppose my courier has been arrested?"

"Ay, and your letters are in the hands of Louis XIV."

"Can it be possible?" cried Barbesieur, anxiously. "How came he in

possession of them?"

"They were given him by the Duchess of Orleans."

"But she--"

"She received them from her step-daughter, the Duchess of Savoy. Not

only them, but your imbecile-written promise to Strozzi that his

wife would return to him as soon as Prince Eugene was dead."

"It was a blunder, I admit," returned Barbesieur. "But the idiot had

so set his heart upon it that I was forced to yield to his whims;

there was no other way of controlling him. I had no sooner given him

this paper, than he became as plastic as clay."

"Nevertheless, Laura is dead, and Eugene of Savoy lives."

"Oh, yes--the thing miscarried, but how, I cannot conceive. I was

close at hand, waiting with horses for Strozzi, who was to seize

Laura, and make all speed for Italy. I waited so long, that at last

I ventured to creep up to the house, and there I learned how Strozzi

had stabbed Laura, and Eugene had shot Strozzi. As soon as I found

out that all had gone awry, I galloped off to Bonaletta, to get my

share of Strozzi's and Laura's property. But the covetous relations

would not let me lay a finger on Laura's estates, without your

written authorization. That brought me hurriedly to Paris. I want it

at once, that I may return to Bonaletta to-day."

"You must remain for a while longer," said Louvois.

"And why, pray?"

"Because you must at least wait until my funeral is over," replied

the unhappy father.

Barbesieur began to laugh. "Oh, papa! pray don't get sentimental.

People are not apt to die of these little vexations. I suppose the

king was rude, as he has been many a day before this--was he?"

"He was more than rude; in presence of all his nobles he accused me

of participation in Laura's murder, and banished me from court until

I returned with proofs of my innocence."

"H'm--" muttered Barbesieur. "The affair looks ugly."

"Insulted before the whole court," murmured Louvois.

"Pshaw! Don't take it so much to heart. It is not your first

affront. You know full well that if old women get the better of you

to-day, you will outwit them to-morrow. Witness your feud of years

with De Maintenon."

"I shall not outwit them this time, Barbesieur. The duchess has

played her cards too dexterously for me to escape. Nor would the

king befriend me; he is under too many obligations to me not to

desire my humiliation and my ruin. Moreover, he is anxious to

propitiate the Duke of Savoy, and will give him full satisfaction

for the attempt on the life of his kinsman. I am lost--irretrievably

lost!"

"Then so much the more imperative is it for us to lay the foundation

of some new structure of fortune elsewhere.--Luckily, Laura's large

estates in Italy are all-sufficient to make you a very rich man yet.

So give me authority to act for you; I will go at once and take

possession, while you arrange your affairs at home, and then follow

me to Italy."

"He thinks of nothing but wealth," murmured Louvois; "he has no

shame for loss of reputation or good name."

"Nonsense!" said Barbesieur, with a coarse laugh; "no man that has

money loses reputation. Poverty is the only crime that the world

cannot pardon, and you, thanks to the Marchioness Bonaletta, have

just inherited a fortune."

Louvois shuddered. "A fortune through the murder of my child!"

"For which we are not accountable," said Barbesieur, carelessly. "We

owe that obligation to Strozzi. and I must say it Was the only

sensible thing I ever knew him to do."

"Silence!" cried Louvois, incensed. "If you have no respect for the

living, have some reverence for the dead!"

Barbesieur rose with a yawn. "I see that my honored father is not in

a mood for reasonable conversation. Here comes the surgeon with his

lancet. Perhaps, when you have lost a few quarts of your bad blood,

you may see things in a better light." So saying, he sauntered out

of the room. With scorn and hatred in his eye, Louvois watched him

until he disappeared from sight; then turning to the surgeon, who

had entered by another door--

"Be quick, and take some blood from my veins, or I shall suffocate!"

A half an hour later, the operation was over, and Louvois felt much

relieved. His face was pale, his eyes no longer bloodshot, and the

surgeon having prescribed rest, the disgraced favorite was left

alone.

He sat propped up in his arm-chair, staring at vacancy--his solitude

embittered by the recollection of what he was, and what he had been.

The stately edifice of greatness, which he had spent a lifetime in

erecting, had fallen like a chateau de cartes, leaving nothing

behind but the stinging recollection of a glorious past. He could

not outlive it--he could not retire to obscurity--he--

Suddenly he shivered, and gazed with eyes distended at the figure of

a woman that now stood against the portiere opposite. Great God! had

delirium seized upon his senses? Were the memories of his youth

about to take shape and form, and mingle their shadowy images with

the tangible realities of life! He knew her--tall, beautiful, pale

as she was--and the recognition filled him with terror indefinable.

He knew her well! In her youth he had loved her, but she had scorned

his love, because she was cherishing the hope of becoming Queen of

France! This triumph had been denied her, and she had hidden her

disappointment by a marriage with another. And fearfully had Louvois

avenged her rejection of his love! He had cited her as a criminal,

before the highest tribunal in France, and had driven her into

exile. Destiny had also given him power to crush her son--to blast

his life as a lover, and his good name as a man. But ah! that

daughter whom Eugene had loved! He had blasted her life also, and

had given her over to a monster that had murdered her! So young, so

lovely, so attractive! She had died to gratify the malice of her own

father!

Like a lightning-flash these thoughts glanced athwart his brain,

while, breathless and terror-stricken, he gazed upon the spectre

that stood against the portiere!

Was it a spectre, or some delusion of his disordered mind? She stood

motionless as a marble statue of Nemesis; but those eyes--those

glowing eyes--there was life and hate in their fiery depths!

Louvois had not the power to look away; he was as spellbound as a

bird under the glance of the basilisk.

"Olympia!" cried he, at last, with a supreme effort to dissolve the

spell.

She threw back her proud head, and came directly in front of his

chair. "You recognise me," said she, in tones of icy hauteur. "I was

waiting before I spoke, to see whether you had forgotten me."

"What brings you hither?" stammered he, confusedly.

"Destiny," replied she, sternly. "Louvois, God is just, for He has

chosen me to be the instrument of your destruction. I was travelling

through Turin to nurse my son, who was not expected to live. I

learned that his illness was of the heart--not of the body. His

Laura had been murdered before his eyes, and, for love of her, he

was in danger of dying. Ah, Louvois! it was the second time you had

almost robbed me of my child! But God is just! To my hands were

confided the proofs of your participation in the crime of your

daughter's assassination, and it was I that delivered them to the

Duchess of Orleans. She had her Laura's death to avenge, I--great

God! what had I not? The humiliation of my flight from France--my

persecution by strangers in a foreign land--my son's lifelong

sorrow!--But ah! you, that drove him from his native country, have

fallen, to rise no more, while Eugene's name is but another word

throughout the world for genius and valor."

Louvois' teeth chattered with fear. He raised his hand, as if to

implore forbearance. She gave him, in return, a look of scorn.

"All Paris rings with your disgrace. The populace are before your

windows, ready, at a signal, to assault your palace, as, at your

son's instigation, they once assailed mine. Your servants are

stealing away, and you are forsaken! Poor, fallen, powerless

Louvois!"

"Not so," screamed Louvois, "not so! If I am powerless it is because

I am dying!" And, with a passionate gesture, he tore the bandages

from his arm.

The blood gushed out like water from a fountain, and Olympia looked

on for a while in cruel enjoyment of her enemy's mortal agony. But

her hatred was unclouded by passion.

"It were a kindness to suffer you to die now," said she; and her

words fell like sharp icicles upon his poor, lacerated heart. "But

you shall live to endure the contumely you forced upon me and mine!

Farewell! I go to call for help."

She crossed the room, and, as she entered the antechamber, Louvois

swooned, and fell upon the floor.

"Go to your lord," said Olympia to the valets who were waiting. "The

bandage has become loosened, and he will bleed to death if you are

not prompt."

Crossing the antechamber, she opened the door that led to a corridor

where her own valet was awaiting her return.

"Can you tell me where I may find Count Barbesieur?" asked she.

"Yes, my lady. He is in his own room, to which I was directed by his

valet."

"Show me the way," said the countess, following the man to the

farther end of the long corridor.

"Here, my lady," said he, pausing, "is his anteroom."

"Go in and announce me."

The valet opened the door and crossed the antechamber. It was empty;

for Barbesieur's valet was, with the other servants, in the

vestibule, discussing the mysteries of the evening. Seeing that no

one was there to announce the countess, the lackey knocked until he

heard a voice from within. He then threw the door wide open, and

cried out--

"The Countess de Soissons!"

Barbesieur, who was seated before a table, deep in the examination

of the title-deeds of the Bonaletta estates, started up in amazement

at the unceremonious interruption. As he turned around to chastise

the insolence of the servant, he encountered the stately figure of

the Countess de Soissons,

"It is long since we met," said she. "Do you remember the occasion

of our meeting?"

"No, countess," replied he, awed by her queenly bearing into

momentary courtesy.

"I will refresh your memory. When last I saw you, you were at the

head of the rabble that mobbed the Palace de Soissons, and had just

received a wound in your arm from the pistol of my son, Prince

Eugene. I had not the satisfaction of being present at the

horsewhipping he administered to you at Long Champs, for I was

obliged to fly from your persecutions, and I have never set foot in

France until now."

Barbesieur laughed. "I have had my revenge. I owe him nothing. The

very grief that is sapping his life at this moment is the work of my

hand."

"I know it, and I, in my turn, have avenged his woes."

"You must have done it secretly, then, for I have never felt any

inconvenience from your vengeance."

"You will experience it before long. Did one of your servants bring

you a fine peach on a salver, about half an hour ago?"

Barbesieur turned very pale, and stammered, "Yes."

"Did you eat it?"

"Yes," murmured he, "I did."

"Then, Barbesieur, that peach avenged Eugene and Laura both. I sent

it to you."

"You!" cried Barbesieur, with a shudder.

"Yes," replied Olympia, her black eyes darting fire as she spoke. "I

sent you the peach, and if you have eaten it (it will be very slow

in its effects), you have just four years longer to live!"

As he heard these terrible words, Barbesieur dropped, like a felled

ox, to the floor.

"Count Barbesieur," cried a voice in the antechamber, "your father

is dying of apoplexy."

Barbesieur started up with an oath, and darted from the room. The

Countess de Soissons followed him to the corridor. No one was there,

for the servants had all congregated, as near as possible, to the

chamber of the dying statesman. Olympia passed on, unchallenged,

reached her carriage, and set off at full gallop for Nice.

She found Eugene improved, and sitting up. He was in his arm-chair,

gazing with tearful eyes at a portrait opposite--a portrait of

Laura, as Sister Angelica. His thoughts were so far, far away from

the weary present, that the door had opened, and his mother had put

her arms around his neck, before he became aware of her entrance.

"Eugene, my beloved son," said she, "I have avenged you."

"Avenged? Dear mother, what can you mean?"

"I mean that Louvois is dead--dead of humiliation. And that

Barbesieur lives; but lives in the knowledge that, in four years, he

must die. His life, then, unto the bitter end, will be one long

agony. Eugene, you avenged my wrongs. I have now paid the debt."

Eugene sighed heavily. "You have erred, mother. You should have left

further vengeance to God. What does it profit me that Barbesieur

suffers--his sufferings cannot recall my Laura."

"Ah," said Olympia, disappointed, "if you were in health, you would

not be so pusillanimous, my child. 'Tis easy to see that you are

sick."

"No, mother, I am no longer sick. At Laura's command, I have

wrestled with bodily weakness, and have overcome it."

"I do not understand you, my son."

Eugene pointed to the figure of Doctor Franzi, who just then entered

the room. "Listen, mother, and you will understand."

The doctor advanced, and, taking Eugene's extended hand, repeated

Laura's dying words. Eugene looked at his mother, and smiled.

"This message has been the medicine that has restored me to health.

My Laura speaks from beyond the grave, and I must obey."

"Who but a hero could have obeyed a mandate at once so loving and so

cruel!" exclaimed Doctor Franzi. "Countess, I am rejoiced to see

you, but more especially rejoice that you should have arrived to-

day."

"I travelled night and day to return in time," said Olympia, looking

fondly at her son.

"Is it a festival?" asked he.

"Yes, dear child," replied his mother, kissing him, "It is your

thirtieth birth-day."

"My thirtieth birth-day!" murmured Eugene. "My youth is no more; I

enter upon the stern epoch of mature manhood."

"Youth, with its sweet visions of love, has passed away; but manhood

will indemnify you, prince, for the sorrows of the past. Before you

lies a future of usefulness and heroism.--Congratulate your son,

countess, for he yesterday received from the Emperor Leopold the

chief command of his armies in Italy. The troops are on their way

now, to greet their general. Hark I Do you not hear the drums? Every

brave heart in the army is beating with joy at the prospect of

seeing him again."

"And I, too, am joyful at the anticipation," replied Eugene, rising

from his chair. "You are right, Franzi. I have been sorely grieved,

'tis true; but I bear about my heart the knowledge of my Laura's

love--as veritable now as when I saw and felt her mortal presence.

This blessing shall make me a hero. So help me God! I will strive

hereafter to do my duty as a man, a soldier, and a Christian."

The drums rolled, the trumpets sounded, and thousands of voices

responded without:

"Long live our general! Long live Prince Eugene!"

THE END.

End Project Gutenberg Etext of Prince Eugene and His Times, by L. Muhlbach

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