Louis delivered the letters of Ignatius to the Chancellor; and in as
few words, and with as much composure as he could command, he announced
the near approach of the Spanish ambassador. Sinzendorff fixed his
observing glance on the fluttering lip that proclaimed the honoured
name, and his doubts were confirmed. He read the letters, and then
remarked, that his Imperial master would be particularly gratified by
the promptitude of this arrival. The intended ambassador must have been
sent forward, to be in readiness, for the proper moment of his official
appearance; and this preparation fully proved the King of Spain's
honourable dependence on the fair dealing of the cabinet of Austria.
Again he fixed his eyes on the face of his self-restrained auditor; and
after expressing himself in terms of high respect with regard to the
Duke de Ripperda, and applauding the decisive step he had taken, in
accepting the embassy, he became fully satisfied that it was the son
of the Duke he saw before him. The Chancellor smiled within himself at
his own discovery, and at the attempted concealment by the Empress; but
without observing on either, he addressed Louis still as the secretary
de Phaffenberg, and proposed their going immediately to the Altheim
apartments.
"We shall certainly find Her Majesty there;" said he, "for the Emperor
passes some hours to-night with his confessor, and the Empress told me
she meant to enjoy the time in confidential discourse with Countess
Otteline."
Louis followed the statesman to the Imperial _boudoir_; and, as he
expected, there he found the gracious Elizabeth and her beautiful
favourite in close conference. He announced that the Chevalier was in
the anti-room, with a commission from the Sieur Ignatius.
"Something extraordinary, by the hour!" cried the Empress, "but I trust
no evil report. I am ready to see him."
Louis entered. He did not look on the side where the Countess stood,
but approaching his father's illustrious friends with a steadiness
of step that surprized himself; and with less visible emotion than
he could have hoped, he delivered to her the message from Ignatius;
adding, that the Sieur would have had the honour of declaring it
in person, had he not been obliged to pass the night in necessary
preliminaries to joining the Embassador, in the morning, at St. Polten.
In the evening, he would enter with him into Vienna.
The Empress's bright eyes shot a radiant glance on the modest bend of
the young secretary's head, as he concluded; and suddenly clasping
the Countess in her arms, she exclaimed,--"_Ave Maria!_ This is the
crown of the Incas!" The Countess did not comprehend the fulness of her
meaning; neither did Louis quite understand it. Sinzendorff thought,
that if disappointment had rendered Isabella rash in her threats,
success seemed to have a similar effect on Elizabeth, by inflating her
with hopes not less alarming. He believed he read in this extraordinary
exclamation, that she anticipated a no small share in the wealth of the
new world, by her influence over the promised Embassador; and that she
would make the marriage settlement for her daughter, an abundant dowry
for herself. Whatever were her thoughts, her face was refulgent with
animation; and receiving the packets of Ignatius from the hand of Louis
with one of her most gracious smiles, she commanded him to take what
entertainment the Countess Altheim would afford him, while she should
retire with the Chancellor, to examine the papers in her hand.
Louis bowed in obedience, and the Empress and her counsellor withdrew:
she smiled to herself, as she closed the door on this auspicious hour
for the lovers; for such, she determined it should be. She had herself
fanned the admiration of the young secretary into the flame which she
now saw kindling on his cheek, as with downward eyes, he saw himself
on the point of being left alone with its object! From the first hour
of his beholding her, until this present moment, the Empress had
condescended to be the adviser and the confident of her beautiful
friend. She loved her too sincerely, not to assist in effecting so
illustrious a means, as a marriage with the son of Ripperda, of
reinstating her in the rank she had lost by her widowhood. But with
all this zeal in her cause, the Imperial Elizabeth did not betray the
secret of Ripperda; she merely hinted to the ambitious Otteline, that
the Chevalier de Phaffenberg was other than he seemed, and, did she
marry him, would place her at the height of her desires. "But," added
she, "there may exist powers to counteract the wishes only, of the
truest lover: you must therefore, lose no opportunity of binding his
honour."
With these views, she regretted the week at the Luxemburg, which had
necessarily separated the favourite from the object of her present aim.
But when he appeared at the palace with his important tidings, the
Empress gave way to every glad anticipation; and hoping all things from
his unsuspecting and ardent nature, she seized the first opportunity of
leaving him with the Countess; hardly doubting, that under the present
heart-opening circumstances, he would reveal every secret of his rank,
his name, and future plans, to make her his for ever.
Louis no sooner found himself alone with the resistless Otteline, than
his throbbing pulse reminded him that his guardian's exhortation was
in danger. In spite of himself, his eyes had stolen a glance towards
her, as the Empress withdrew; and her personal charms seemed to break
upon him, that night, in fuller lustre, even than before, when he
thought that nothing could have encreased the perfection of her beauty.
Their former meetings were always in a morning, when the dress is more
enveloped, and consequently less of the figure is displayed. This was
the first time he had seen her at a later hour, and she was habited as
she had left the Imperial drawing-room. Her dress was white, and her
fair arms and snowy bosom, decorated with jewels, drew the eye to forms
that might drive the sculptors of Greece to despair. Her golden tresses
were coiled with the same gorgeous bands; while one glittering ringlet,
escaped from its confinement, waved over her spotless neck, as if it
were the wing of love fluttering towards the guarded regions of her
heart. She caught the glance, and the almost smothered sigh, with which
Louis affected to turn his attention towards a cage of birds which
stood near him.
She did not appear to observe his embarrassment, but gently echoing
the sigh, remained leaning against the pedestal of a vase of flowers,
with her eyes fixed on the profile of his face. She guessed, that he
saw nothing in the gilded cage, but her image in his mind. Again she
sighed; and with such an expression, that Louis felt it thrill through
his frame. He turned his head, and their eyes met. Her's were full of
entrancing softness; his, of a grateful passion, which he would fain
have rendered less distinct. She smiled tenderly, and stretched her
arm towards him. In that moment he remembered how they had separated:
he was again in the same position, at her side, her hand in his, and
clasped to his lips! The brilliant roses on her cheeks did not lose
their brightness, in this speechless, but eloquent avowal of his love.
But the Empress had told her to require _words_!
Her fair fingers trembled in his, when she falteringly
articulated--"Chevalier! you have been so long absent--I thought--" She
paused, and looked down.
"Not," exclaimed he, "that I had forgotten to be grateful?"
She slowly raised her eyes towards his; and while the softest
tears swam over her own, and gemmed a dimpled smile; she half
whispered,--"the heart is a coward!"
"Never your's!" cried he, forgetting his determined self-restraint,
in the bewitching mazes of her thousand beauties, in the resistless
fascination of her words and looks. With a burning blush, she sunk
into a chair, but still yielding her hand to his fervent pressure, she
suffered him to drop upon one knee by her side.
"Never can you doubt," cried he, "where you have once confided."
She averted her head, and shook it mournfully. A tear fell on his hand.
Louis's soul was on his lips, as he kissed away that tear. The Countess
covered her face, and almost sobbed. He had now no remembrance of any
thing but herself. She was agitated, even distressed; and he was the
cause! He attempted to speak, but emotion prevented his utterance;
he trembled, and grasped her hand; she felt the strong pulsation of
his heart against her knee, and softly murmured,--"This Embassador
arrives--and you will go!" She interrupted herself, and attempting to
rise, exclaimed in disorder, "Oh, that I had never listened to our last
conference!"
Louis detained her on her seat. He must have been dull as the iron
rock, and hard as its material, had he hesitated to understand and to
reply to this agitation, this language. But words were inadequate to
express the sympathy which seemed to dissolve all his faculties in the
one feeling of unutterable love. He could only kneel at her feet, and
clasp the hand he had detained, to his throbbing eyes.
Her exulting heart believed itself now near the gaol of all its winding
movements: a positive declaration of his love, and an unequivocal
solicitation of her hand, in veritable words! Another step, and this
bond of honour would be her's. But she did not permit the triumph of
her thoughts to rise upon the managed scene of her countenance; all
there was retreating softness: yet, allowing her arm to drop, as if
unconsciously on his shoulder, with the sweet familiarity of perfect
confidence, she gently said, "and may I believe that you love me well
enough, to make me your's, in spite of the world's harsh prejudice
against a birth that was not noble? Can you be determined to bear me
up against that world? For she who is the favourite of the Empress has
many enemies; and when she is known to be beloved by you, she will have
many more.--Ah, Chevalier, against all this, may I believe that you
will be true?"
This demand, though put with all the force of exquisite tenderness,
giving itself without reserve to the fidelity of implied attachment,
contained words that recalled Louis from the delirium of passion,
and made him ask himself, how _true_ he had kept his engagement
with Ignatius? How _true_ he had maintained his _determination_ to
preserve his duty to his father? since he was even now on the point of
dishonouring both, by uttering the very vow against which he had been
so solemnly enjoined!
Shocked at the oblivion in which all memory of his duty had lain for
the last half-hour, and indignant with himself, that his consequent
discovery of a more than reciprocal passion, had betrayed the Countess
to the last decisive question, he started from his knees, and said in a
hurried voice, "I dare not answer you as my heart would dictate, most
lovely, most beloved of women!--I am not my own.--In pity then--in
honour--allow my lips to be silent for a time."