"The next morning, the grand-vizier retreated, and the plan of attack, inspired by the genius of the Duke of Lorraine, had destroyed the prestige of the Sultan in Hungary. Scarcely inferior to this great commander was the ability displayed by Prince Louis of Baden, and Max Emmanuel. No man who beheld them can ever forget the sight of these two great heroes, handsome and brave as Hector and Patroclus."
"Sire, my tale is ended. Buda has fallen, and its conquerors have immortalized themselves."
"You say, your tale is at an end, Prince Eugene," replied the emperor, smiling. "But you have omitted something in your recital."
"What is it, your majesty?"
"You have not once mentioned the name of the Prince of Savoy; and yet he must have been there. You have exalted the genius of the Duke of Lorraine, and you have likened his two generals to the heroes of antiquity. It is said that the Prince of Savoy is the inseparable companion of Prince Louis and Max Emmanuel. Where, then, was he, while his friends were gaining immortality?"
"Sire, he was with them; but, as he did no more than his duty, I have nothing further to say."
"It is your duty, as bearer of dispatches from your commander-in chief, to answer my inquiries, let them relate to whomsoever they will. Where were you, then, while your friends were astonishing you with their valor?"
"He was at their side, your majesty. Before the siege, the three friends had sworn never to surrender to the enemy. It was therefore natural that the Prince of Savoy should follow the example of his superior officers, and imitate their gallantry."
"But was he in no danger? Was he not wounded?"
"Sire, on such a day, no soldier could hope to escape from danger; above all, the officers who led them into action. The Prince of Savoy's horse was shot under him, and he himself was slightly wounded in the hand by an arrow."
"Where was he stationed on that last day?"
"He was ordered to skirmish with the enemy, and prevent them from making sorties on the besiegers."
"A hard task, for one so young."
"Yes, sire; for it condemned him to inaction, while his comrades were gaining glory. But before the close of the day, fate befriended him. The grand-vizier having made no attempt to join the besieged, the Prince of Savoy was so fortunate as to come in with his dragoons, just as the Bavarians were about to be repulsed from the breach."
"Ah! I thought so!" exclaimed Leopold; "and doubtless his appearance had much to do with the successful storming of the castle. And how did the Duke of Lorraine reward his gallantry?"
"Sire, he was rewarded far, far beyond his deserts. The Duke of
Lorraine, in presence of the army, folded him in his embrace."
"That was well done. Come hither, Prince Eugene. I, too, would reward you as the Duke of Lorraine did."
Eugene hastened to the emperor, who folded him in his arms, and then led him to the empress.
"Your majesty," said he to his wife, "I present you a young hero, who for three years has been gaining renown in the service of Austria. I recommend him to your favor, and beg that you, too, will bestow some reward upon him."
The empress turned her soft blue eyes upon the prince, who bent his knee, and kissed the hand she extended to him. "I will pray for you," said she, "as long as I live; and, as a testimonial of my regard, I beg you to accept my husband's portrait."
Unclasping from her neck a heavy gold chain, to which was attached a miniature set in brilliants, she threw it over Eugene's shoulder with these words:
"Let the emperor's likeness be to you a souvenir of your past heroism, and may it inspire you for the future to serve him with loyalty and love."
"Your majesty," replied Eugene, "of my own free will I chose the Emperor of Austria for my sovereign; but from this day forth I am pledged to serve him as his native-born subject: and the chain so graciously bestowed by your majesty, I shall wear as emblematic of my fealty, for life."
The emperor signed to Eugene to rise, and addressed himself to all present. "Vienna, too, shall have her share in this day's joy. The crescent, which for more than a hundred years has proclaimed to the world that Austria's capital was once in the hands of the infidel, shall be taken down from the tower of St. Stephen's. We have won the right to displace the accursed emblem, and it shall once more give place to the symbol of Christianity!"
The crescent of which the emperor spoke, had been on the tower of St. Stephen's since the year 1529, when Vienna was besieged by the Sultan Soliman. His guns were being constantly directed against the tower; and the Viennese having sent a deputation to request that the Turks would not demolish their beautiful cathedral, Soliman consented to spare it on one condition. This was, that the cross should be removed, and the crescent take its place. In their extremity, the promise was made; and, from that day, the Christian church had borne the hated symbol of Mohammedanism.
At the fall of Buda, Leopold refused to be bound any longer by the promise extorted from his ancestors; and, in commemoration of the capture of this important post, a cross was erected on the tower, with this inscription: "Luna deposuit, et crux exaltata. Anno quo Buda a Turcis capta, MDCLXXXVI."
CHAPTER II.
THE FRIENDS.
With the capture of Buda, the campaign of 1686 closed. The army went into winter quarters, and the officers all congregrated in Vienna, there to indemnify themselves for past hardships by a few months of recreation.
Eugene of Savoy participated very little in the gayety of court- life. While his companion-in-arms, Louis of Baden, plunged headlong into the vortex of pleasure, the shy young Frenchman led a most retired existence, in his little hotel in the Herrengasse. He had purchased this residence for his brother's widow and children, intending to make it not only their home, but his own. The young widow, after spending two years with her brother-in-law, forsook the world and retired to a convent, there to lay her burden of grief at the feet of her Lord. Her children she committed to the care of their great-grandmother, the Princess de Carignan; and Eugene was left to the solitude of a bachelor home, without one friendly voice to bid him welcome to its cold hearth.
Even Conrad, his faithful Conrad, was absent. Eugene had sent him to Turin with messages to Victor Amadeus, which he had not thought it prudent to write. For Conrad was not only loyal and affectionate; he had proved himself a person of such uncommon ability, that he was now his lord's secretary, no longer his servant. He had the care of his money, the administration of his affairs, and was his trusty and confidential friend. Eugene missed him sorely; for Conrad had accompanied him "that night" to the Palais Royal, and although Laura's name had never passed his lips, still her lover found some solace in the companionship of the man who had tended him during that dreadful illness, and who, he knew full well, had learned from his unconscious lips the secret of his love and its blight.
Eugene was in his cabinet. He had been engaged in the study of mathematics, and the perusal of Julius Caesar's campaigns; after which, by way of recreation, he sat down to his escritoire, and, unfolding a sheet of paper, began to make plans of palaces and gardens.
He was so absorbed in his drawing, that he neither heard nor saw the door open, and give entrance to a handsome young man in a rich Spanish costume. For one moment the visitor paused on the threshold, and smilingly surveyed Eugene; then, crossing the room on tiptoes, he laid his hand upon the prince's shoulder.
"I certainly thought I would surprise you inditing a poem or a letter to the lady of your thoughts, and here I find you drawing plans!"
"Max Emmanuel!" exclaimed Eugene, rising joyfully, and embracing his friend.
"Yes, Max Emmanuel, who, having paid his devoirs to his imperial father-in-law, has come with all haste to ask how it fares with his friend. The servants told me you were in your cabinet, so I forbade them to announce me, and made my way hither all alone, that I might take you by surprise, and find out whether you loved me as much as I do you. Seeing you intent upon writing, I was quite confident that I was about to discover a great secret—when lo! I see nothing but a sheet of drawing-paper, covered with porches and pilasters. Tell me the truth, Eugene—why is it that, instead of worshipping Aphrodite, like other youths, you are doing homage to the household gods of domestic architecture?"
"Why, my dear Max, domestic architecture interests me, because I expect to build houses, and lay out grounds. I do not worship Aphrodite like other youths, because—because I know her not."
The elector looked searchingly into Eugene's solemn eyes. "Are you in earnest?" asked he. "Do you intend me to believe that you are unacquainted with the ecstasies and tribulations of love?"
"No," replied Eugene, sadly, "for I am too truly your friend to deceive you, Max. I have loved, but my love was unfortunate; and the wound it has made in my heart is too painful to be probed. Dear friend, let us speak of it nevermore!"
"On the contrary, let us speak of it together without reserve. A hero like Eugene, who has faced death, and so often wrested victory from his enemies, can surely contemplate such a wound as Cupid's dart inflicts upon a man! But tell me, what are unfortunate loves? mine have all been crowned with myrtle, and smothered in roses."
Eugene was silent for a time; then raising his large, melancholy eyes, till they rested affectionately upon the bright, laughing countenance of his friend, he spoke: "I can well believe that you know nothing of the pangs inflicted by unhappy love; for you are handsome, distinguished, and gifted. I, who am none of these, can tell you what it is to love adversely. It is to love with passion; to be parted from the object of your love; and not to know whether she, like you, is constant to her vows, and suffers from your absence, as you do from hers. Pray Heaven that love may never come to you in such a shape as this."
"No danger of me contracting the malady," replied Max; "I am constitutionally incapable of receiving it. I pluck the fruit or flower that grows nearest, never suffering my imagination to run away with my longings. But never mind me and my sybaritic interpretations of the tender passion. Are your woes irremediable? Is the lady married?"
"In the eyes of the world she is."
"But not in the eyes of God, you would say. Then her marriage must have been compulsory or fraudulent?"
"It was fraudulent."
"Then hie we to the pope for justice! His holiness will not refuse it to such a brave crusader as you, and I myself will be your advocate. Give me pen and paper. I will write at once, send your signature and mine to the petition, and dispatch it by a courier this very day; and then the world will see whether we, who stormed Buda, may not storm adverse fortune also."
"Dear friend, neither the pope nor you can storm my adverse fortunes. I must hear from my beloved whether she is true to me before I take one step to possess myself of her. For three years I have waited in vain for her summons; and yet my longing arms are outstretched to clasp her, and never while I live will they encircle the form of another!"
"Nay—these are the enthusiastic ravings of recent disappointment. For a few years longer you may sorrow for your first love; but oblivion will come, all in good time, and you will end by loving some other woman as deserving as your absent mistress, and more attainable. After all, ambition, not love, is the business of life; and Cytherea's groves grow not a flower that can compare with the laurels which fame places on the brow of the conqueror. It is well for me that I am ten years your senior, else I should have been obliged to come behind you, Eugene, and pick up your cast-off leaves."
"The Elector of Bavaria is not a man so easily set aside," was
Eugene's reply.
"And yet efforts are continually being made to set him aside," cried the elector, hastily.
"Who could be so presuming as to lay his sacrilegious hand upon the well-earned laurels of a warrior so distinguished as your highness?"
"Who? You know quite as well as I, that it is the Duke of Lorraine."
"Ah!" exclaimed Eugene, with enthusiasm, "who can compete with him? He is the greatest man of the age. As learned as he is brave; as prudent as he is resolute; a wise statesman, an unrivalled general; equally distinguished in the cabinet and the field. How fortunate I have been in having him for my master in the art of war!"
"You are modest," said the elector, derisively. "As for me, I have no ambition to follow any master in the art of war. I wish to carve out my own plans and schemes, and I am weary of being subject to the will of the Duke of Lorraine."
"He is commander-in-chief of the army," urged Eugene. "No army can be without a head, to which all its members must be subordinate."
"But why must that head be Charles of Lorraine, pray?"
"You surely would not dream of supplanting HIM!" cried Eugene.
"Yes, I would; and I have determined to submit to his dictation no longer. If I cannot have a command independent of the Duke of Lorraine, I shall withdraw my troops, remain in Bavaria, and leave my father-in-law to fight his own battles with the Turks."
"You will do no such thing," said Eugene, laying his hand upon the prince's shoulder, and looking anxiously into his face. "You will not endanger the great cause for which we have fought together by the interference of petty personal jealousies. No, Max Emmanuel, you are too magnanimous to sacrifice the interests of Christendom to such considerations. Moreover, you have gained too much renown as a general, to be overshadowed by the reputation of any man."
"I do not know THAT. I only know that the Duke of Lorraine is in my way, and that for the future he must stand aside, or I resign my commission in the imperial army. But these are matters of future discussion. We will postpone this altercation until the opening of our next campaign. Meanwhile—do you know what brought me hither this morning? I come to snatch you away from cold contemplation, and introduce you to society."
"I have no taste for society," replied Eugene, shrinking from the very thought. "I love solitude; and mine is peopled with delicious visions of the past, as well as glorious aspirations for the future."
"Of what nature are your aspirations? They point to military distinction, I hope. Do they not?"
"Yes; and I trust that I shall attain it honorably. Fate will assign me my place; the rest remains for me to do. I have too much to learn, to mingle with the world."
"Man learns not only through the study of books, but through that of human nature," exclaimed Max Emmanuel; "and you need never hope for greatness unless you gain knowledge of the world. I have come to entice you away, and I will not be refused."
"Whither would you entice me?" asked Eugene, smiling.
"To the paradise of pleasure and of lovely women—to Venice!"
Eugene started, and a glow overspread his pale face. "To Venice!" echoed he. "To Venice!"
"Ay, prince—to Venice," repeated Max Emmanuel. "To live over the
'Arabian Nights,' by joining the great carnival."
"I have heard that Venice is the seat of all elegance and refinement, and that no man who has not graduated in its school of gallantry is considered perfect in worldly accomplishments."
"Then you perceive that you, who are so ambitious, must go with me to Venice to receive your diploma as a gallant. My heart beats with joyful impatience as I think of the delights that await us. The carnival is to be unusually brilliant this year. The Prince of Hanover, the Margraves of Baireuth and of Baden, the brave commander-in-chief of the republican armies, Morosini, and Admirals Molino and Delphini, are all to be there. Morosini himself has written me an invitation to the carnival, and you must accompany me."
"No, your highness," replied Eugene, seriously. "I have not been invited; there is therefore no reason why I should go."
"But if I tell you that I will consider it as a proof of your friendship," persisted the elector, "then I hope you will no longer refuse me. Indeed, you would do me the greatest favor."
"How could it possibly be a favor?" asked Eugene.
"I will tell you how. I am impulsive and easily led away: YOUR principles are firm as a rock. I have known you for three years, and have closely observed your character, Eugene. You are sensible, honorable, and independent; you are reserved, yet sincere—brave, yet discreet. You are more than all this—you are an honest man, rejoicing in the fame of others, and never blind to worth because of envy or longing for notoriety."
"My dear, dear friend," interrupted Eugene, "you overrate me beyond- -"
"No, I do not overrate you," was the elector's reply. "I appreciate you—that is all; and I want you for a counsellor. You know how a reigning prince is surrounded by flatterers; how his follies are heralded to the world as virtues; and, above all, you know how many snares are spread for such a gilded butterfly by artful women, who long, not only for his heart, but for his gold; above all, when he calls himself a prince, and is the son-in-law of an emperor."
"You have a poor opinion of women," smiled Eugene.
"They have given me no reason to think well of them. I know the whole sex to be fickle, coquettish, and heartless; and yet I am forever being led astray by their siren voices. And when the wicked enchantresses smile and swear that they love me, I am ravished— albeit, I know that every word they utter is a lie."
"You mean when they smiled and swore, I presume," said Eugene; "for such delusions must have ended with your marriage. The husband of the beautiful Archduchess Antonia need not fear the wiles of Phryne or Lais."
"Pardon me," replied the elector, with a woe-begone expression of countenance, "they have become doubly dangerous, since they are forbidden fruit. I never was intended to be a model of conjugal fidelity, and my heart beats fearfully when I think of the starry eyes, the raven hair, the pearly cheeks of the fair women of Venice! I have very little confidence in my own valor, if I have to meet them single-handed. Do, Eugene, come with me; let us be companions- in-pleasure as we have been companions-in-arms. I depend upon you to fortify my virtue in the hour of need."
"Your true and loving friend I am and will be ever," replied Eugene; "but do not ask me to go to Venice. I am too poor to go thither in such distinguished companionship."
"It is understood that you go as my guest; there can then be no question of riches or poverty. I have engaged a palace for me and my suite; my household are already there, and you have nothing to do but to make yourself at home. Every thing I possess is at my friend's disposal."
"Which means that your highness considers me as one of your suite, and perchance intends to supply me with pocket-money?" said Eugene, proudly.
"Nay, Eugene," replied the elector, offering his hand, "I meant nothing that could offend my friend. I meant that he should share with me as a brother whatever I possess."
"There are two things, your highness, which no man can share with another. One is his mistress, the other his honor. I am poor, and therefore I cannot share with you your advantages of fortune; I am obscure, and scorn to shine by the borrowed light of your highness's exalted station. Sooner would I dwell in a cottage than in a palace at another man's expense."
Max Emmanuel had at first regarded Eugene with unmixed astonishment; then the expression of his handsome face had changed to one of admiration and tenderness. As the prince ceased, the elector rose from his chair, and took both his friend's hands.
"You are, indeed, one of Nature's noblemen," continued he, affectionately. "Your view of this matter is, as usual, exceptional; but it is the highest view that can be taken of such an offer; and, although I am the loser thereby, I honor you for the refusal. I must then renounce the pleasure I had promised myself of having your company to Venice," added the elector, with a sigh.
"Perhaps not," returned Eugene. "Any thing on earth I would do to prove you my friendship; and I may go to Venice, not for the sake of its beautiful women, but for the pleasure of bearing you company."
"Thank you for that 'may,' Eugene. But let your decision be a speedy one, I implore you; for I long to quit a court that bristles with so many tiresome Spanish formalities. I would be glad to start to- morrow, but I will wait for you. How long must I wait?"
"Only until my secretary returns from Turin. I expect him to-day."
"So much the better. Let me hear from you as soon as possible."
"I will."
The elector rose and took his leave, while Eugene returned to his escritoire, and tried to resume his occupation. But his thoughts were straying to Venice, and his hand lay listless on the paper.
"To Venice!" murmured he. "To Venice—perchance to Laura!"
As he pronounced her name, he broke into one wild ejaculation of joy.
"See her? Oh, yes!" cried he, passionately. "Gaze into my Laura's eyes, I must—should the sight cost me my life! But—no!" faltered he, suddenly. "I must not see her. She has forgotten me; and perhaps at this very hour, when my heart throbs to bursting at the thought of meeting her again, she jests with her husband at the silly episode of her foolish fancy for me! Perhaps she rejoices at her escape from alliance with the disgraced family of the De Soissons, and blesses Heaven for—peace, doubting heart! I WILL believe—I WILL hope—Laura, my Laura.—Ah, Conrad, are you here at last?"
And Eugene, springing from his seat, clasped Conrad's hands within his own.
"Yes, your highness," replied Conrad, his face beaming with joy to see his dear lord. "I have just alighted, and must apologize for my dusty garb. I did not stop to change my dress."
"You were right—quite right, and it needs no apology. Tell me the result of your mission. Did you speak with the Duke of Savoy in person?"
"Yes, your highness, he was so kind as to grant me two audiences. I related to him the entire history of your embarrassments, and their cause. I told him of the sequestration of your estates by the covetous King of France, and of the debts which this act of injustice had compelled you to leave in Paris. He asked me what was your pay as colonel in the Austrian service. I told him that the pay was fluctuating as to amount, and uncertain as to receipt; but at its maximum it might reach the sum of ten thousand florins a year. Upon this, he said: 'Ten thousand florins a year to maintain a prince of the house of Savoy, and one of the most distinguished officers in the imperial service! Well may he be straitened in purse!' Then I took courage, and told his highness that you could not possibly live on less than fifteen thousand florins, and that you appealed to him to assist you in maintaining the dignity of the ducal house of Savoy, and saving its representatives from absolute penury."
"And what was the answer?"
"He requested me to return the next day, which I did. I was most kindly received, and his highness said that he hoped he had found a remedy for your embarrassments, my lord. Although forbidden by the laws of Savoy to pay a salary to any man not in the service of his own dukedom, he would be happy to assist your highness from his own privy purse, until he had arranged matters in a manner more satisfactory and more secure. Prince Antony of Savoy, who is in a dying condition, possesses the revenues of five abbeys, which his highness of Savoy hopes to have transferred to your highness, thus securing to you a fixed and certain income, not subject to the sequestrations of the King of France."
"He wrote no letter?"
"No, your highness. The duke gave me four rouleaux of three hundred ducats each for present need, and bade me take them as his answer to your highness's letter."
Eugene smiled. "Therein I recognize my prudent cousin, who dares not trust his promises to writing. But I thank him for his golden answer. How much did you say you brought, Conrad?"
"Twelve hundred ducats, my lord, which will cover all expenses until the opening of the spring campaign, when your pay is due."
"But, my dear Conrad, you forget that we have debts to pay. And, by- the-by, what news do you bring from Paris?"
"Your highness's creditors there were so astounded at the prospect of being paid, that I almost regretted to be obliged to disturb the tranquillity with which they had accepted their losses. They were so grateful that they bade me say they would be perfectly satisfied with yearly instalments of any amount your highness would be pleased to pay. So I made arrangements to close your whole indebtedness at the end of three years."
"A long time for those poor fellows to wait for their dues," said Eugene, shaking his head. "Conrad, if we obtain the transfer of those abbey revenues, the first sum we receive therefrom goes to my creditors in Paris. Remember that." [Footnote: The payment of Prince Eugene's debts was regarded as something ultra-honorable by the people of Paris, and the Duchess Elizabeth-Charlotte speaks of it in her letters as a noble action.—See "Letters of Elizabeth- Charlotte."]
"I shall be very sure to remember it, my lord; for it will be an occasion of rejoicing to many an honest tradesman, each one of whom will bless your highness's magnanimity."
"Magnanimity! I call it bare justice!" said Eugene. "Give me the memoranda."
Conrad presented the package, which his lord opened, examining each account until he had seen all.
"I miss one account here which I would gladly pay," said he, with some embarrassment.
"The account of Monsieur Louis?" was Conrad's prompt reply.
Eugene made a motion of assent, while Conrad continued:
"My lord," said he, averting his eyes from the prince, "I went to Monsieur Louis, as I did to your other creditors. He said that he could not accept payment for decorations which had never been completed. He would always hold sacred the remembrance of the day when your highness fell insensible upon a heap of garlands that were to have ornamented your reception-rooms, and he had been near to lift you in his arms. He told me this with tears in his eyes, my lord; pardon me if I have awakened painful reminiscences by the recital; but he begged me to convey his message, and I felt bound to comply."
For some moments Eugene kept silence. After a pause, during which
Conrad dared not meet his eye, the prince replied:
"Conrad," said he, "if I should ever afford to have a princely retinue again, I will take Monsieur Louis into my service. At all events, if I ever build a house, he shall decorate it, and shall be well paid for his work.—And now to other things. Did you see her highness the Duchess of Orleans?"
"Yes, my lord. Her highness was walking in the park when your letter was handed to her. She sent for me at once, and received me in the little pavilion."
"The pavilion! The pavilion! Go on."
"She inquired minutely as to your health, prospects, and condition. She asked if you were cheerful. I told her that you were always in high spirits on the day of a battle. Then she would have me relate to her the dangers you had incurred, spoke of her grief at hearing you had been wounded, and seemed never to tire of your praises. Then she sat down and begged me to wait until she wrote you a short letter. Here it is, my lord."
Eugene broke the seal; then, as if ashamed of the emotion that was welling up from his agitated heart, he looked at Conrad, who understood the appeal, and withdrew.
As the letter was opened, a small bit of paper fell from its folds, and fluttered to the carpet. Eugene, without observing it, began to read his letter. It ran thus:
"I cannot refrain from sending you a greeting in my own hand. My dear prince, I hold you in affectionate remembrance; let me hope that you have not forgotten me. Every thing remains here as when you left; false, frivolous, and, to me, as antagonistic as of erst. I have never been happy since SHE was so cruelly forced away from my protection. I have had news of her. My daughter, who lives in Turin, made a visit to Venice lately. I had begged her, if possible, to give me tidings of——, and to give her my hearty love. They met for a moment, when she pressed into my daughter's hand a little note for me. I opened it, but it contained only the slip of paper I enclose. Be assured of my sincere and constant friendship. ELIZABETH- CHARLOTTE."
"The paper! the paper!" exclaimed Eugene, as, with trembling hands, he opened the sheet, and found nothing within. "Great God! the duchess has forgotten to enclose it, and I must away to Paris, this night, this very—"
Just then his eyes rested on the carpet, and there at his feet lay the treasured paper. It contained these words:
"I am a prisoner—watched day and night. Have you, too, forgotten me? I cannot believe it; and, after three long years of silence and of suffering, I still await your coming."
As Eugene read these tender words, he sank on his knees, and pressed the paper to his lips. "Forgive me, my Laura," murmured he. "I was weak in faith, and unworthy of you. But I will love you all the more for my injustice. I come! I come!"
He rose from his knees, calling for Conrad, who was in the antechamber, awaiting a summons to return. Great was his astonishment when he beheld Eugene advancing toward him, his lips parted with a happy smile, his eyes beaming with animation, his whole bearing transformed. What could it mean?
"Conrad," cried he, and his very voice had a joyful peal, like the chime of marriage-bells—"Conrad, we must leave Vienna this evening. Let everything be in readiness. If we have not gold enough with our cousin's ducats, borrow more; but be ready to go with me at once. Stay—I had almost forgotten. Go to the palace; see the chamberlain of his highness the Elector of Bavaria, and tell him to announce to the prince that Prince Eugene of Savoy leaves this evening for Venice. That is all. Make haste, Conrad! Away with you, and fly back as soon as possible, for I tell you that we must be on our road before night!"
CHAPTER III.
THE MARQUIS STROZZI.
The Marquis Strozzi was alone in his cabinet, pacing the room with clouded brow and compressed lips. Now and then he stopped before the window which opened on a balcony overlooking the Canale Grande; and the sight of the gayly-decked gondolas that shot hither and thither with their freight of youth and youthful glee, seemed to intensify his discontent, and rouse him to positive anger.
"They are shouting their stupid welcome to these foreign princes," muttered he, "and presently she will be attracted by the sound, and seek to know what it means. My God!" ejaculated he, striking his forehead, "this love is the curse of my life. It will drive me to madness, and yet—and yet I cannot overcome it. To work, then, to work! I must increase my number of spies."
In the centre of the room, on a table of Florentine mosaic, lay a little golden hell, fashioned by the master-hand of Benvenuto Cellini. The marquis rang it gently, and, before he had replaced it, a secret door in the wall slided back, giving entrance to a masked figure, enveloped in a long black cloak.
Strozzi surveyed him for a moment, then, throwing himself upon a divan, he was lost in contemplation of the frescoes by Paul Veronese, which decorated the ceiling of this luxurious apartment. Meanwhile the mask had carefully closed the door, and stood respectfully silent.
Finally Strozzi condescended to speak. "Take off your mask." The man obeyed, and Strozzi gazed upon a sinister face, disfigured by a long, purple scar, which reached from the left temple to the chin.
"Do you know," continued the marquis, "that if you were to appear unmasked in the market-place, every child in Venice would recognize you, Antonio?"
"Yes, excellenza," was the humble reply.
"How did you come by that scar?" sneered the patrician.
Antonio moved impatiently, and glanced imploringly at the marquis.
The latter merely repeated the question.
Antonio heaved a sigh, and his head dropped to his breast.
"It was inflicted by my father," murmured he, almost inaudibly.
"Speak louder," said Strozzi. "Why did he inflict it?"
The man's eyes shot fire, but he dared not remonstrate. His glance fell before the cold glitter of Strozzi's black orbs, as he muttered in reply, "I was trying to get at his money, when he rushed in upon me, and gashed my face with a dagger."
"Upon which YOU plunged your poniard into his throat, and made an end of your respectable parent on the spot."
"Excellenza," cried Antonio, in tones of deep emotion, "I had but raised it to ward off the blow, when my father rushed upon it, and so met his fate."
The marquis laughed. "Rushed upon it—did he? Of course you are an innocent lamb of a parricide, and the judgment passed upon your act was a most iniquitous one. It was doubtless a shame that you were publicly maimed, and then led back to prison to await your execution. Possibly you may remember the night that followed your punishment, when a priest entered your cell, and, on condition that you paid him implicit obedience for five years, offered you life and the release of your paramour—the woman for whose sake you murdered your father."
"Poor Caterina!" sighed Antonio. "To think that, for the life of a babe not a day old, she should be imprisoned for five years!"
"Why, then, did she murder it?" asked Strozzi.
"To save herself from the vengeance of her husband, excellenza. But
I—I have kept my word, and have served you faithfully, have I not?"
"Yes—you are a tolerably submissive hound," said Strozzi, scornfully. "How long before your bondage ceases?"
"Excellenza, it was in January, 1683, that you appeared to me in the dress of a priest, and saved me from the headsman. I owe you still one year, one month, and twenty-six days of service."
"You are accurate—very; but mark me! If you fail in the least point, the contract is null. I neither release your Caterina nor you."
"I am your slave, and have no will but yours."
"'Tis well. What have you learned to-day?"
"As regards the gracious marchioness, but little. She drew, played on her harp, and embroidered, as usual, and wrote a letter, which she committed to the hands of that demoiselle Victorine. who gives out that she was sent to her ladyship by her friend the Duchess of Orleans."
"I know—I know. Where is the letter?"
"Here it is, excellenza."
The marquis examined the seal, to see that it had not been tampered with by his underlings. "Any thing further?" added he, raising his eyes to Antonio's woe-begone face.
"Very little, excellenza. The signora went twice to the balcony to look at the gondolas, Mademoiselle Victorine watching her from within. The second time she went, she clasped her hands all of a sudden, blushed, and leaned so far over the balustrade that mademoiselle made sure that there was something unusual on the canal. Pretending that she had some question to ask as to the signora's dress, she followed, but the signora was so absorbed in what she saw, that she did not remark her tire-woman."
"What was it?" asked Strozzi, breathless with expectation.
"The Canale Grande was so crowded with splendid gondolas that it was hard to say what had attracted the marchioness's attention. But after a moment or two of waiting, Mademoiselle Victorine saw that one of the gondolas was stationary just opposite to the palace."
"Whose gondola? Who was in it?" cried Strozzi, imperiously.
"Besides the gondoliers, the gondola contained a young man, so simply dressed, that he could not have been anybody of distinction, for he wore a brown doublet with plain buttons. Mademoiselle concluded that the lying-to of the gondola was accidental; he was too insignificant to have interested the signora."
"What do YOU think?" asked Strozzi, eying him searchingly.
"I think it was premeditated, but I will soon find out."
"What steps have you take a to—? But no!—go on—go on. What took place afterward?"
"Nothing, excellenza; for after this gondola, came that of my lord the marquis, and the signora retreated hastily to her room."
"Ah!—Now tell me what you have done?"
"I posted one of my men, with his gondola, under the balcony. He is to remain there, watching every gondola that passes both by day and by night. I have stationed men at every entrance of the palace, who are to give admittance to all who present themselves; but who are to require the names and business of all who leave. Even those who are in your excellency's pay are to be searched—for example, Mademoiselle Victorine."
"You are a well-trained dog," laughed Strozzi. "I really believe that I will have to set you and your child-murderess free, some of these days. Go, now, and bring me word who was in that gondola."
Antonio resumed his mask, and disappeared through the door, which closed, and left no trace upon the wall.
At this moment, there was a knock at the door of the antechamber, and a woman's voice was heard, asking admission.
"Lucretia!" said Strozzi, rising and undoing the bolt.
A lady entered the room. She was enveloped from head to foot in a veil of costly Venetian guipure, fastened to the braids of her raven-black hair by two large brilliants. Her face had been concealed by the veil, but, as the door closed behind her, she threw it back, and exposed to view a countenance of remarkable beauty.
"Look at me, Ottario," said she. "Tell me candidly—am I handsome enough to bewitch our guests, those princely bears of Germany?"
The marquis surveyed her critically, just as a painter might examine a fine picture. He looked at her pale, pearly skin, her scarlet lips, her delicately-chiselled nose, and her low, wide forehead, so like that of the Capitoline Venus. Then he gazed into her dark, flashing eyes, at once so languishing and so passionate, with the beautiful arched eyebrows that gave such finish to their splendor. The black hair, like a frame of ebony, surrounded the face, and brought out the graceful oval of her cheeks. Strozzi then followed the luxurious outline of her well-developed bust, prisoned in a bodice of blue velvet, which rested on her white shoulders like an azure cloud upon the bosom of a snowy mountain-peak. The skirt, also of blue velvet, was short in front, that it might not conceal a fairy foot encased in blue satin slippers; but, behind, it fell in a long train, whose rich folds lay on the carpet, perfecting the grace and elegance of the beautiful living picture.
"You are certainly charming," said Strozzi, at last—"quite charming enough to bewitch a dozen German princes, supposing your husband to offer no impediment to the spell."
Here she drew out a fan of coral and gold. and, opening it with a snap, began to fan herself. "Caro amico," said she, "you speak as if you were ignorant of the character and virtues of Count Canossa, when you yourself are the very tradesman that sold me to him."
"You use very strong expressions, Lucretia."
"Do I? Not stronger than are warranted by the transaction. You sold me to him to rid yourself of your mother's dying charge, and you did it, although you knew him to be a man so depraved that nothing on earth was sacred in his eyes—not even the virtue of his wife."
"Why, that," replied the marquis significantly, "is so much the better for you."
"You mean that otherwise he would not have married me?" asked
Lucretia.
"I mean that he would have examined more carefully into the truth of the rumor which accused the sister of the Strozzi of having a liaison with a gondolier; of having fled with him to Padua, and of having been caught and brought hack to Venice, while her patrician lover was sent to the galleys."
"I wish he had done so," was the reply, "and then you would have been compelled to save my honor by allowing me to marry Giuseppe. Do not laugh so heartlessly, Ottario. I loved him not only because of his manly beauty, but because he was honorable and worthy of a woman's purest love. His only fault was that of having loved me. You sent him to the galleys; and I—I, too, have been condemned to the galleys, and chained to a felon for life. Well I know that he covered my indiscretions with his name for a stipulated sum, which my generous brother paid to save my reputation, and he gambled it away before the expiration of a year. Our palace resembles a ship that has been visited by corsairs. It contains nothing but a pile of lumber, for which not even a pawnbroker would give a bajocco. Were it not for your alms, the Countess Canossa would starve."
"Alms, call you my gifts?" said Strozzi, casting his eyes over her rich toilet. "They dress you up handsomely, methinks."
"But there they end," objected the countess. "I have neither lackeys nor diamonds, neither gondola nor gondolier, and my saloons are so shabby that I can receive no company at home. You give me as little as decency permits."
"If I gave you diamonds, our dear Canossa would steal them; and if I furnished your parlors, he would gamble away the furniture in a night."
"You know the worth of the husband you selected for your mother's child, and doubtless you had your own private reasons for sacrificing her to such a man. His worthlessness, too, furnishes an excuse for your niggardly allowance to me. The very dresses I wear are the price of dishonor. I often feel ashamed of the part I play toward your wife, Ottario, and I know not but some day I may throw myself at her feet and acknowledge my treachery."
"If you do, your acknowledgment will be forthwith conveyed to my ears, and the doors of the palace Strozzi will be closed to you forever."
"I know it," sighed the countess; "and the fear of this expulsion binds me to your wicked will."
"Never mind what binds you, so you serve with fidelity; and, above all things, I charge you to be watchful during the coming week. I will not be able to keep my wife much longer from participation in the social pleasures of Venice."
"Why not? You have spread a report of her insanity, and nobody will ever give a thought to her absence."
"But she may desire to witness the carnival herself."
"How so? when she has invariably refused to be presented to any one as your wife?"
"She might change her mind, and claim her right to be presented to the doge and dogessa. She may wish to take part in the carnival, because of a fancy for some foreign prince!—Great God! when I think of such a possibility," cried Strozzi, interrupting himself, "I feel as though I were going mad for jealousy!"
"Poor fellow!" said Lucretia, "I pity you. You live with a perpetual dagger in your heart."
"And it will kill me unless you are loyal to your office, Lucretia. Promise me to watch this woman closely. Listen to me.—She may wish to go out, and if she does, it is quite natural that you, as well as I, should accompany her. Swear that wheresoever you may be together, you will not for one moment quit her side, or take your eyes off her person."
"For what do you take me. pray? Do you suppose that I attend the carnival to yawn at the side of your wife? or do you imagine that such eyes as mine were made for nothing better than to stare at a woman?"
"You will have as much opportunity as you can desire to use them to your own advantage, Lucretia, for Laura will not go out often."
"What will you give me in return for my self-denial?"
"If the carnival passes off without misadventure, I will buy you a splendid gondola, with two gondoliers dressed all in silk."
"Give them to me now, and if I neglect my duty, then take them back.
But do—do give them to me to use during the carnival."
"Very well, you shall have them to-morrow morning. And you swear that my wife shall neither give her hand nor speak to any man in Venice, and that you will report her very glances to me?"
"I swear to guard your golden apple like a good dragon. And to- morrow I shall join the great regatta," added she, clapping her hands like a petted child. "Now, Ottario, listen to me—I have just come from your wife's apartments with news for you."
"What is it?" gasped Strozzi, clutching at the arms of his chair.
"The beautiful Laura is no longer the cold vestal that came to Venice as your wife. Her eye is bright, her cheek is flushed, her lips are parted with womanly longing. I congratulate you upon the change. Your love has at last awakened a corresponding sentiment, and now is your time to woo and win. I came hither to tell you this and make you happy. Do not forget my gondola! Addio, caro amico, addio!"
She kissed the tips of her rosy fingers, and then, coquettishly drawing her veil around her shoulders, she bounded off like a gazelle, through the corridors of the palace.
"I wish I had your frivolity," murmured her brother, sinking back upon the cushions of his divan. "I would that love, for me, were but the episode of the hour!—But hark!—twelve o'clock—the hour for my visit to her who is at once the blessing and the curse of my life!"
He was about to quit the room, when he heard a rustling at the secret door. "Come in," said he, and the mask re-entered the room.
"You, Antonio! Already returned?" asked Strozzi, surprised.
"Yes, excellenza. I know the name of the young man in the gondola which stopped before the palace this morning."
Strozzi was too much agitated to speak. He signed to the man to go on.
"It was Prince Eugene of Savoy. He arrived in Venice yesterday, and
has taken the little Palazzo Capello, next to the Palazzo
Manfredino, which since this morning is occupied by the Elector of
Bavaria."
Strozzi was now as pale as a corpse; his brow darkened, and his limbs trembled so that he was obliged to sit down. He mastered his agitation as well as he could, and resumed his questionings.
"You are quite sure, Antonio?"
"Perfectly sure, excellenza."
"And yet the Prince of Savoy is not among the invited?"
"He came alone. The Marquis de Villars had rented the Palazzo Capello for himself, but he has given it up to Prince Eugene, and has accepted the invitation of the elector to occupy a suite on the ground floor of the Palazzo Manfredino. The Prince of Savoy and the elector are intimate friends; for no sooner had the former arrived, than he left his address at the Palazzo Manfredino; and the latter had not been here an hour before he was at the hotel of the White Lion, where Prince Eugene had taken lodgings. By noon, the elector had obtained the relinquishment of the Palazzo Capello for the prince, and the Marquis de Villars had taken up his quarters at the Palazzo Manfredino."
"From whom did you learn all these details?"
"From one of the gondoliers that rowed Prince Eugene this morning, my half-brother Beppo. 'Whither shall I row you, excellenza?' asked he. 'Anywhere,' said the prince, in excellent Italian, 'but take me to see your famous palaces.' 'The Foscari, for example?' inquired Beppo. 'Yes, and the Strozzi, which, I am told, is one of the finest residences in Venice.' So they rowed to the Strozzi palace, and there the prince bade Beppo stop for ever so long a time. The prince will spend the entire carnival here. He has bought a gondola, and his secretary is on the lookout for gondoliers, an Italian valet, and a commissionnaire."
"You will offer yourself as his commissionnaire, then," said Strozzi, with a sinister scowl. "And be sure you get the place—do you hear?"
Antonio bowed, and the marquis continued: "In fifteen minutes return to me, and meanwhile—begone!"
Without a word of reply Antonio disappeared; Strozzi pressed down into the wall the spring by which the door was opened, and then, taking up his plumed hat, betook himself to the apartments of his wife.
CHAPTER IV.
LAURA.
She lay half buried in the yellow satin cushions of a soft ottoman. Her large, dreamy eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, whereon groups of flying Cupids were pelting one another with roses. Her lips were parted with a happy smile, her fair brow was serene and cloudless, and her cheeks were tinged with a faint flush like that of the rose that is kissed by the first beams of the rising sun. She was the same beautiful, spirited, hopeful being that had lived and loved in the pavilion of the Palais Royal.
She lay dreaming and smiling, smiling and dreaming, when the velvet portiere that opened into her boudoir was drawn aside to give entrance to the Marquis de Strozzi. Yesterday his visit had been a martyrdom to Laura; to-day she was indifferent to it: she was far beyond its influence, nor did she acknowledge it by so much as a glance.
But when he stood directly before her, and would have stooped to kiss her hand, she withdrew it with a gesture of aversion, although her countenance yet beamed with happiness.
The marquis saw that she was excited, and he frowned. "You seem in good spirits to-day, Marchioness de Strozzi," said he, moodily.
"I am indeed in good spirits when I can endure your presence with tranquillity, nor start at the sound of a title which is not mine. I am not the Marchioness de Strozzi."
"I do not know how that can be, when you are indubitably my wedded wife."
"No, no, I am no wedded wife of yours, nor am I bound to you by the lying vows that gave me into your keeping. For three years, I have endeavored to make you understand this, but you are singularly obtuse."
"I can never be made to understand that the woman who, in presence of her father and brother, promised to be unto me a faithful wife, is not my true and lawful spouse."
"My vows were not for you; they were made to another."
"Nay—I can show your signature to the contract, and the pope himself cannot undo our marriage."
"Our marriage!" exclaimed she, haughtily. "There is no marriage between you and me, and be assured that there never will be. I would sooner die than become your wife. Hear me," continued she, passionately. "If I thought that I was indeed bound to you, I would- -ay! I believe that I would commit the crime of suicide. Could you convince me that the hand which received your accursed ring was indeed yours, I would gather up all my strength of hate to strike it off, and dash it in your face."
"Great God! And I love you to madness!" cried he, throwing himself on his knees, and clasping her hands so convulsively that all her writhings could not release them. "I love you, I love you, and am doomed to love you, albeit your cruelty is driving me to madness!"
"'Tis the punishment of your crime toward me," answered Laura, coldly. "You have sinned against love, and God has punished you through love that shall be forever unrequited. Accept your fate, and be resigned."
"I cannot do it, Laura, I cannot do it! My love for you is like a deadly poison that sets my blood on fire. It must be requited, or I shall die a maniac. Oh, have pity! have pity!"
"Pity for YOU!" said she, contemptuously.
"Look at me," cried he, imploringly. "For once in your life, Laura, turn your eyes upon me without hate, and see how love has corroded my very life. Three years ago I was a happy man—to-day I am not yet thirty, and my hair is gray, and my face wrinkled. Life has no charms for me, and yet I am too cowardly to die, and leave you to another. Oh, Laura, look at me, and be merciful! Deliver me from the hell in which your hatred has plunged me!"
"Nay—your sufferings are the purgatorial fires whereby you may perchance be purified from the guilt of your treachery toward an innocent girl. Marquis de Strozzi, now look at me. Am I, too, changed since three years of misery unspeakable?"
"No," sighed he, "you are as beautiful and youthful as you were when first I saw you in Paris."
"You are right," replied she. "I am altered neither in appearance nor in heart. And do you know why? It is because Hope, bright-eyed Hope, has sat day and night by my side, whispering sweet words of encouragement, bidding me be firm; imparting to me strength to endure the present, and to enjoy the future. I feel it in my soul that he will come sooner or later to liberate me from my bondage."
"If he ever comes, I will murder him!" hissed Strozzi.
"You will try, but you will not succeed. God protects him, and he wears the invisible armor of my love to shield him from your hate."
"Very well. Pray for him if you will; but, as sure as I live, I will find his vulnerable heel!"
As he said this, Laura turned pale, and Strozzi remarked her pallor with a malicious pleasure. "Ah! your faith is not strong! My poisoned arrows will find the flaw, and upon him shall be avenged every pang that you have inflicted upon my bleeding heart. You know that he is here—I see it by your altered demeanor."
"Yes, yes, I know it."
"Be not too overjoyed thereat: for the daggers of my bravoes are keen and sure, and the lagoons are deep, and give not up their dead."
"You would not sully your soul with secret murder!" exclaimed Laura, shuddering.
"That would I. He is my rival, and he shall be put out of my way— that is all."
"No—that is not all. You dare not murder a prince, a hero upon whom the eyes of all Europe are fixed in admiration. Such a man as he is not to be put out of the way with impunity. Were you to murder Eugene of Savoy, know that I myself would be your accuser; and your uncle, the doge himself, is not powerful enough to save your head from the executioner."
"What care I for the executioner's axe, who for three years have been stretched upon the rack of your aversion? So I make sure that he has gone before me—so I have the sweet revenge of sending him to Tartarus, what care I how soon I follow him thither?"
"You are a monster!" exclaimed Laura.
"I am the work of your hands," replied Strozzi. "If I am a monster, my perdition he upon your head. And now, mark me! I came hither to have one decisive interview with you. Prince Eugene is in Venice; you are aware of it, for you sent him a greeting from your balcony this morning, as his gondola lay in front of the palace."
"Your spies are vigilant," said she.
"Yes, they serve me well, and they are ubiquitous. They mark each smile and report every tear that tells of silent joy or grief upon your face. They are with you when you pray; they watch you while you sleep, so that your very dreams are not your own. Now you are my wife, howsoever you may protest against the name, and you shall not sully that name, be assured of it. If, by word or look, by movement or sign, you allow Prince Eugene to suppose that you recognize him, he shall expiate your disobedience to my will by death. I am afraid that you do not believe me; you think that I make a mere threat to terrify you into submission. Is it so?"
"Yes, marquis, it is so. You are treacherous and cruel; but, abhor you as I may for the misery you have inflicted upon me, I do believe you to be one degree above a bravo. You are not a coward—you would not consent to be an assassin."
"You flatter your keeper, that you may disarm him."
"No; I speak the truth. I hate, but do not despise you to such a degree as to believe your threats."
"So much the worse for you. I would enjoy the privilege of plunging a dagger into his heart with my own hands; but I must deny myself that satisfaction. It is safer to employ a bravo, and to pay him. You know how dearly I loved my mother, do you not?"
"Yes, I have heard of it from your sister."
"Well—that portrait hanging over your divan is my mother's. Doubtless, had you known it, you would have banished it from the walls of your boudoir for hatred of her son."
"I have all along known that it is your mother. But I loved my own too deeply ever to offer disrespect to yours. I have often raised my imploring eyes to that mild face, and have poured out to her spirit my plaint of her son's cruelty."
"Raise your eyes to it again, then, and inform her that it rests with you whether her son shall become an assassin or not. For, by my mother's soul, I swear that, if ever there comes to pass the most trifling interchange of thought between Prince Eugene and the Marchioness de Strozzi, he shall die—die, if I have to expiate the deed upon the scaffold! Do you believe me now?"
"I must believe you," returned Laura, sickening with disgust. "But while conviction despoils you of the last claim I supposed you to possess to the name of a man, it does not terrify me for the life you would destroy. God, who has protected him on the field of battle—God, who has created him 'to give the world assurance of a man'—God, who is the shield of the pure, the brave, the virtuous, will not suffer the Prince of Savoy to fall under the dagger of your hired bravi!" "Nous verrons.—And now, signora, let us speak of other things. The carnival this year is to be of unusual splendor; a number of foreigners of distinction have visited Venice to witness it. Lucretia, without doubt, has apprised you of all this?"
"She has."
"So I presumed; for Lucretia is fond of gossip. She would gladly induce you to go into society, knowing that a woman of your beauty and extreme youth cannot appear in the world alone, and that she would naturally be the person to accompany you. Would you like to see the regatta?"
This proposal terrified Laura, for she comprehended that he was in earnest when he threatened Eugene's life. The marquis read her thoughts, and replied to them.
"I shall shun no occasion whatever that may justify me in keeping the oath you heard me take a while ago. And, therefore, you are welcome to appear at the regatta. The doge will be there in the Bucentaur, attended by all the court. As you have refused to be presented as my wife, you cannot take your proper place among the ladies of rank. But it is not too late. If you wish, I can present you to-day."
"No—no," cried Laura, "I do not wish it."
"Then perhaps you would like to go incognita. It will be many years before another such regatta is seen in Venice."
"True, I would like to see the sight," said the poor young victim.
And to herself she added: "I might perchance see HIM."
"Be it so, then, signora; your wishes are my commands."
"But I would like to see without being seen," added she.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Strozzi, with a wicked sneer. "Then I will see that your gondola is closely curtained. Will you allow me the honor of accompanying you?"
"As if I were free to refuse," said Laura, with quivering lip.
"One thing more," said the marquis. "It is the custom for all who join in the festivities of the carnival to appear in a costume of some foregone century. May I commission my sister to select yours?"
"I would like to select for myself."
The marquis bowed his head. "As you please. The tradesmen of Venice will be delighted at last to have a look at the beautiful wife of the Strozzi."
Laura shrank visibly. "I will not go," said she. "Let the Countess Canossa select my costume. It matters little to me: but be so good as to see that the gondola is well curtained."
"I will not forget it," answered the marquis, as he bowed and left the room.
Laura's eyes followed him until he had crossed her whole suite, and had closed the door behind him. Then, yielding to the bliss of being left a few moments alone, she opened her arms, and, kneeling before her prie-dieu, poured out her heart in prayer to Heaven for Eugene's safety. Then, throwing herself again upon the divan, she began to dream. She saw her gondola approaching his; she saw her lover—her spouse, and made one rapid movement of her hand. His gondola touched hers; she flung aside the curtains and leaped into the boat with him.
But as she dreamed, there floated over the water the sound of song. This was no unusual sound on the Canale Grande, but the music was not Italian; it was no languishing barcarolle, such as Venetian lovers were wont to sing to their mistresses; the air was foreign— the words were French. She heard them distinctly; they were the words of her own, dear, native language!
"It is he!" cried she, springing out upon the balcony.
Yes, it was he; he had called her with an old familiar air, and, while he looked up in rapture, the music went on, for the singers were in a gondola that followed.
Laura was so wild with joy that she forgot the marquis, his spies, and his threats. Snatching the first bouquet that presented itself, she made an attempt to throw it to her lover. But she had not calculated the distance, and it fell far short of its destination.
"An evil omen," murmured she, and then she remembered the horrible threat of the marquis. She gave one ejaculation of terror, and bounded back into her boudoir.
About fifteen minutes later, Strozzi entered the room. In his hand he held a bouquet of beautiful roses, which he presented with mock courtesy.
"Signora, you were so unfortunate as to drop your bouquet in the lagoon not long ago. The mermaids will be glad to receive so fair a gift from so fair a hand. Allow me to replace it."
"On the contrary, I must request you to take your roses away from my boudoir. I do not like the odor of flowers, and I threw mine into the water because their perfume oppressed me. I regret that you should have taken so much useless trouble."
"And I beg pardon for interrupting your reveries," said Strozzi, with a sarcastic smile, as he bowed and retired with his bouquet.
"Gracious Heaven, I was watched! Am I, then, given over to enemies, and is there not one being here that I can trust?"
At this moment a door opened, and a young girl entered the room. "Victorine!" exclaimed Laura, joyfully, "come hither. God has sent you to me to shield me from despair."
The girl came smilingly forward, and, kneeling at her mistress's side, looked affectionately at her, saying in Laura's own tongue:
"What ails my dear mistress?"
"Victorine," replied Laura, gazing earnestly into the maiden's eyes,
"Victorine, do you love me?"
Victorine covered her hand with kisses, while she protested that she loved her mistress with all her heart. "Dear lady," said she, "did I not leave Paris for love of her whom her royal highness cherished as a daughter? Was I not sent to you by the Duchess of Orleans, that you might have one true friend among your troops of enemies? And now that I had hoped to have proved to my dear mistress my devotion, she asks if I love her!"
"True, Victorine, I have no right to doubt your attachment. And certainly I have proved that I trust you, by committing to your care my letters to the duchess. Ah, Victorine, when will you bring me an answer to those letters?"
"The answers cannot have reached Venice as yet, dear mistress," said Victorine, soothingly. "But I came to tell you something. May I speak?"
"Yes—speak—speak quickly!"
Victorine went on tiptoe to the door, and, having convinced herself that no one was near, she came close to Laura, and whispered in her ear: "Madame, one of the foreign princes has been here to call on you."
"Who? who?"
"Prince Eugene of Savoy," said Victorine, as though she was afraid the breeze might betray her.
Laura shivered, became deadly pale, and could scarcely gather courage to say, "He was refused entrance?"
"Yes, the porter told him that the marchioness was in bad health, and received no visitors."
"That was well. Go, Victorine, and tell the servants to convey neither message nor card of Prince Eugene of Savoy to me. I will not receive him. Go, go quickly, and then—"
"And then?" said Victorine, coaxingly.
Laura was silent for a while; then, putting her arms around Victorine's neck, she drew the young girl's head upon her bosom. "Try to find out where Prince Eugene is staying, and go to him. Say that you come from the Marchioness Bonaletta, and you will be admitted to his presence. Now tell him word for word what I shall say to you. 'To-morrow the Marchioness Bonaletta will attend the regatta. Her gondola will be closed, but whosoever wishes to recognize it can see her as she descends the stair and enters it. Let the gondola be closely followed, and when a hand holding a nosegay of roses is seen outside the curtain, let the gondoliers be instructed to come as close as possible to the hand, so that the two gondolas collide. Then—let the prince await me.' Do you hear, Victorine?"