THE PARTING.
The emperor hastened to her assistance, but finding her totally
insensible, he laid her gently down again.
"She is unconscious," said he; "kind Nature has lulled her to
insensibility--she will recover." Then taking the veil from the
countess's hat, he covered her face, and turned toward the terrified
count, who, trembling in every limb, was powerless to save himself by
flight.
"Give me the countess's album!" said the emperor sternly. Count
Schulenberg drew it mechanically forth, and, with tottering steps
advanced and fell at the emperor's feet.
Joseph tore the book from his hands, and laid it on the sofa by the
countess. Then returning, he cried out in a tone of indignation, "Rise!
You have behaved toward this woman like a dishonorable wretch, and you
are unworthy the name of nobleman. You shall be punished for your
crimes."
"Mercy, sire, mercy," faltered the count. "Mercy for a fault which--"
"Peace!" interrupted Joseph. "The empress has already sent a courier to
order your arrest. Do you know what is the punishment in Austria for a
man who flies with a married woman from the house of her husband?"
"The punishment of death," murmured the count inaudibly.
"Yes, for it is a crime that equals murder," returned the emperor;
"indeed, it transcends murder, for it loses the soul of the unhappy
woman, and brands her husband with infamy."
"Mercy, mercy!" prayed the wretch.
"No," said Joseph sternly, "you deserve no mercy. Follow me." The
emperor returned to is own room, and opening the door that led to the
anteroom he called Gunther.
When the valet appeared, Joseph pointed to the count, who was advancing
slowly, and now stopped without daring to raise his head.
"Gunther," said the emperor, "I give this man in charge to you. I might
require him on his honor not to leave this room until I return; but no
man can pledge that which he does not possess; I must, therefore, leave
him to you. See that he does not make his escape."
The emperor then recrossed his own room, and closing the door behind
him, entered the apartment of the countess. She had revived; and was
looking around with an absent, dreamy expression.
"I have been sleeping," murmured she. "I saw the emperor, I felt his arm
around me, I dreamed that he was bending over me--"
"It was no dream, Countess Esterhazy," said Joseph softly.
She started, and rose from the sofa, her whole frame tremulous with
emotion. Her large; glowing eyes seemed to be searching for the object
of her terror, and then her glance rested with inexpressible fear upon
the door which led into the emperor's room.
"You were there, sire, and heard all--all?" stammered she, pointing with
her hand.
"Yes--God be praised, I was there, and I am now acquainted with the
motives which prompted your flight from Count Esterhazy. I undertake
your defence, countess; my voice shall silence your accusers in Vienna,
and if it becomes necessary to your justification, I will relate what I
have overheard. I cannot blame you, for I know the unspeakable misery of
a marriage without love, and I comprehend that, to break its fetters,
you were ready to brave disgrace, and to wear upon your spotless brow
the badge of dishonor The empress must know what you have undergone, and
she shall reinstate you in the world's estimation; for she it is who has
caused your unhappiness. My mother is too magnanimous to refuse
reparation where she has erred."
"Sire," whispered the countess, while a deep blush overspread her face,
"do you mean to confide all--all to the empress?"
"All that concerns your relations with your husband and with Count
Schulenberg. Pardon me that I overheard the sweet confession which was
wrung from you by despair! Never will I betray it to living mortal; it
shall be treasured in the depths of my heart, and sometimes at midnight
hour I may be permitted to remember it. I--Come back to Vienna,
countess, and let us seek to console each other for the agony of the
past!"
"No, sire," said she mournfully, "I shall never return to Vienna; I
should be ashamed to meet your majesty's eye."
"Have you grown so faint-hearted?" said the emperor, gently. "Are you
suddenly ashamed of a feeling which you so nobly avowed but a few
moments since? Or am I the only man on earth who is unworthy to know
it?"
"Sire, the judgment of the world is nothing to me; it is from your
contempt that I would fly and be forgotten. Let other men judge me as
they will--I care not. But oh! I know that you despise me, and that
knowledge is breaking my heart. Farewell, then, forever!"
The emperor contemplated her with mournful sympathy, and took both her
hands in his. She pressed them to her lips, and when she raised her
head, her timidity had given place to strong resolution.
"I shall never see your majesty again," said she, "but your image will
be with me wherever I go. I hope for great deeds from you, and I know
that you will not deceive me, sire. When all Europe resounds with your
fame, then shall I be happy, for my being is merged in yours. At this
moment, when we part to meet no more, I say again with joyful courage, I
love you: May the blessing of that love rest upon your noble head! Give
me your hand once more, and then leave me."
"Farewell, Margaret," faltered the emperor, intoxicated by her tender
avowal, and opening his arms, be added in passionate tones,
"Come to my heart, and let me, for one blissful moment, feel the
beatings of yours! Come, oh, come!"
Margaret leaned her head upon his shoulder and wept, while the emperor
besought her to relent and return to Vienna with him.
"No, sire," replied she, firmly. "Farewell!"
He echoed "farewell," and hastily left the room.
When the door had closed upon him, the countess covered her face with
her hands and sobbed aloud. But this was for a moment only.
Her pale face resumed its haughty expression as she rose from her seat
and hastily pulled the bell-rope. A few minutes later, she unbolted the
door, and Madame Dupont entered the room.
"My good friend," said the countess, "we leave Paris to-night."
"Alone?" asked the maid, looking around.
"Yes; rejoice with me, we are rid of him forever. But we must leave this
place at once. Go and order post-horses."
"But dear lady, whither do we journey?"
"Whither?" echoed Margaret, thoughtfully. "Let the will of God decide.
Who can say whence we come, or whither we go?"
The faithful servant hastened to her mistress, and taking the hand of
the countess in hers, pressed it to her lips. "Oh, my lady," said she,
"shake off this lethargy--be your own brave self again."
"You are right, Dupont," returned Margaret, shaking back her long black
hair, which had become unfastened and fell almost to her feet, "I must
control my grief that I may act for myself. From this day I am without
protector, kindred, or borne. Let us journey to the Holy Land, Dupont.
Perhaps I may find consolation by the grave of the Saviour."
One hour later, the emperor, sitting at his window, heard a carriage
leave the Hotel Turenne. He followed the sound until it was lost in the
distance; for well he knew that the occupant of that coach was the
beautiful and unfortunate Countess Esterhazy.
Early on the following morning another carriage with blinds drawn up,
left the hotel. It stopped before the Austrian embassy, and the valet of
the emperor sprang out. He signified to the porter that he was to keep a
strict watch over the gentleman within, and then sought the presence of
the Count von Mercy.
A quarter of an hour went by, during which the porter had been peering
curiously at the pale face which was staring at the windows of the
hotel. Presently a secretary and a servant of the ambassador came out
equipped for a journey. The secretary entered the carriage; the servant
mounted the box, and Count Schulenberg was transported a prisoner to
Vienna. [Footnote: Count Schulenberg was sentenced to death; and Maria
Theresa, who was inexorable where a breach of morals was concerned,
approved the sentence. But Count Esterhazy hastened to intercede for his
rival, acknowledging at last that Schulenberg had freed him from a tie
which was a curse to him.]