Prince Eugene and His Times Part 27

"And so he is! His eyes are aflame with the light of a n.o.ble soul, and his face is as that of a demi-G.o.d!"

"A demi-G.o.d!" cried madame, clasping her hands. "I do believe she has fallen in love with him!"

Laura buried her face in the folds of the d.u.c.h.ess's dress. "Pray for me, dear lady," sobbed she; "pray for me. Never would my father consent to bestow my hand upon the son of the Countess de Soissons, and I!--oh, if I should love him, I would forsake the whole world for his sake. Alas! alas! I believe that he is lord and sovereign of my heart, for it bounds to meet his, as though it felt that he was master of its destiny!"

CHAPTER VIII.

FIRST LOVE.

Four days had elapsed since the ball, and its events, triumphs, and contrarieties were already forgotten. n.o.body bestowed a thought upon Prince Eugene, who, concealed from view by the thick cloud of the king's dislike, had fallen into complete oblivion.

n.o.body said a word about the ignominious punishment administered to Barbesieur de Louvois, for the king had treated him with consideration; and his majesty's countenance had healed his stripes, and cured his wounded honor. So that Barbesieur de Louvois was greeted with the courtesy due to a n.o.ble knight, and Eugene of Savoy was spurned as a base-born churl.

Was it for this that he was so pale, so silent, and so shy? Was it for this that he sat alone in his room for hours, murmuring words of pa.s.sionate tenderness, and extending his arms to heaven, as if he expected some seraph to visit him in his desolate home? Was it for this that by night he paced the length of a garden-wall, and stood with folded arms before its trellised gates? Had sorrow and slight unsettled his reason?

If they had, there was "method in his madness," for his steps were ever directed toward the same place, the hotel of the Duke of Orleans.

On this fourth day after the ball, at dusk, Eugene left the Hotel de Soissons, and took the way, as usual, toward the Palais Royal. Its long facade was dimly lighted, and every thing within seemed hushed.

"I am fortunate," thought he; "the d.u.c.h.ess has dismissed her attendants, and SHE has retired to the pavilion."

He continued his way along the side-wing of the palace, until he arrived at the garden which occupied the s.p.a.ce now contained between the Rue Vivienne and the Bourse. This magnificent garden was refreshed by plas.h.i.+ng fountains, and decorated by n.o.ble trees and gay parterres; but it was encompa.s.sed by a high stone wall, of which the summit was defended by short iron spikes whose uplifted points gave warning to all pa.s.sers-by that intrusion into this paradise was attended with danger.

But what cares love for "stony limits," or when did danger ever intimidate a stout heart?

Eugene was now at the extreme end of the garden. The deep, unbroken stillness of solitude reigned around. At times, and at a distance, was heard the faint rumbling of a coach; but otherwise nothing interrupted the loneliness of the place and the hour. For, although nine o'clock had just sounded from the tower of St. Jacques, all Paris was at rest, save the few aristocrats who were on their way to b.a.l.l.s and banquets, or the houseless wretches who, with their dark lanterns, were searching the gutters for a lost penny.

So that Eugene was un.o.bserved, and had full opportunity to draw from his cloak a package which proved to be a rope-ladder of silk; to unroll, and fling it over the garden wall. It caught in the p.r.o.ngs, and in a few moments he was within the enchanted walls of the palace where Laura de Bonaletta dwelt.

She was alone in her pavilion, in the room which led into the garden, and its gla.s.s doors now stood wide open. She had thrown aside her court-dress, and was now attired in a white peignior edged with delicate lace. Her feet were encased in slippers of blue satin embroidered with silver, and her hair, stripped of all ornament, was twisted into a coronal around her graceful head.

She had dismissed her attendants, and sat beside a table of white marble, holding in her hand a book which she seemed to read--yet not to read. She turned its pages, and her eyes were fixed upon them, but little saw Laura of their contents, she was looking into another book, the book of her own heart; and mysterious were the pages thereof, half painful, half pleasant, to peruse.

Around her all was silent. From time to time the night wind sighed through the branches of the trees without, and a few sorrowing leaves fell rustling to the ground, while she, her book now laid aside, and her pretty hands folded in her lap, gazed and gazed at sky and earth, at moonlit paths, and darkly looming trees, but saw nothing of them all. Something broke the perfect stillness. It was neither summer breeze, nor rustling leaf; 'twas the crackling gravel that was being displaced by approaching footsteps. The sound was all unheeded by Laura, who heard nothing but the voice of her heart as it sang its first anthem of love.

The moon emerged from a silver cloud, and Eugene's figure darkened the threshold. For one moment he contemplated the beautiful picture before him, then with noiseless steps he approached and knelt at her feet.

"Kill me for my presumption," whispered he, "for I deserve death.

But I would rather die at your feet than live another hour out of your sight."

Laura spoke not a word in return, but neither did she cry out in terror or surprise. She merely gazed at Eugene with distended eyes, whose mysterious expressions he dreaded to interpret.

A feeling of anguish inexpressible pervaded his being. "I thought so," murmured he, bitterly. "I thought so; and yet I could not have done otherwise. Had I known that I was to be racked for my temerity, I must have sought you, alone and unattended--sought you as I would my Maker, when no curious eye was upon me to see my tears, no mocking tongue to echo my sighs; hut when, unfettered by the bonds of a conventional world, I was free to pour out the oceans of love that are drowning me in their sweetness; and then!--to live or die, as you should determine. I love you! Do you hear? I love you! And with such strength of love, that if I am unworthy; if, poor, ill- favored, unfortunate, the Prince of Savoy may not aspire to your hand, then call your people, and drive me hence; for whether you welcome or whether you spurn, you still must hear me, while my yearning heart cries out for judgment. Speak, beloved! I await my sentence--is it life or death?"

He raised his pleading eyes to hers, and as they met, her beautiful head drooped lower and lower, until it almost touched his own. He felt the soft touch of her hands upon his shoulders, and heard the thrilling accents of her trembling voice, as, in tones so inaudible that none but a lover's ear could have guessed their sweet import, she whispered these words:

"I was waiting for thee."

With a wild cry of rapture, Eugene caught her to his heart, and imprinted one long, loving la.s.s upon her lips. Then he gazed upon her with an expression of pa.s.sionate tenderness, which transfigured his homely features and lent them beauty.

"Say that thou lovest me," cried he, "oh, say it again--again-- again."

"I love thee," repeated Laura, "I love thee, Eugene. When first our eyes met, I knew that my heart had found its sovereign. Oh, sweet va.s.salage, that never again will seek enfranchis.e.m.e.nt! Oh, happy bondage, than liberty more precious! Bondage that makes me thine, and thou mine forever!"

"Ay, forever!" echoed Eugene, while tears streamed from his eyes at sound of her delicious avowal. "We love each other! Oh, my Laura, what magic in those blessed words! We love each other! I could weary echo with repet.i.tion of the sound: WE! 'Tis the first time in my life that my name has ever been joined with that of a fellow-being.

My brothers, who enjoyed the privileges of their birth and rank, looked down with contempt upon one who was condemned to the obscurity of the priesthood; my young sisters feared me, and I was too shy to ask for their love; in my proud and beautiful mother's heart there was no room for the son, to whom fate had allotted no share of her loveliness and grace. Alone in the midst of a family circle, alone in society, alone in the world, I thrust back into my sorrowing soul the hopes, the loves, the aspirations of youth, and refused to listen to their pleadings. But in the depths of the night, when no mortal was by, and I stood alone in the presence of G.o.d. I called them up, and bade them weep with me that life and light were denied them. I mourned, and prayed for deliverance, but no friendly voice ever bade me be comforted. And so I lived, shunned and despised by my fellows."

"No, no, my Eugene, not shunned and despised," exclaimed Laura, while her gentle hands wiped away the tears that were streaming down her lover's cheeks. "You belie yourself and the world. It may not love you, but it has divined your worth."

Eugene answered with a faint smile. "My worth is small, beloved; but no human being has ever divined the secrets of my ambitious heart.

But ah! how changed is life to me to-night! I went to that ball to throw down the gauntlet of my hate before Louvois and his son. I was rebuked by the king, slighted by his n.o.bles; but I had no eyes to see, no pride to resent their insults. When I saw thee. the sun shone upon my heart, and there was light and love within. But oh!

when thou earnest so near that I felt the perfume of thy breath upon my cheek, and the touch of thy hand within my hand, then I was born again to a life of hope and happiness. My soul's better half was found, and nevermore shall it wander from my side. I am here at thy feet to ask thee for my wife. I have neither wealth nor repute to offer thee: I am a poor appanagist, a prince without fortune or distinction. But, dearest, if thou wilt be mine, I swear by all the imprisoned aspirations which thy coming has liberated, that the wife of Eugene of Savoy shall have pride in her husband! Be mine, be mine, and I will make thy name ill.u.s.trious!"

"I am thine," said Laura, fervently, "for time and for eternity. I care not whether thy name be obscure or thy fortunes adverse; I love thee as thou art." And so saying, she extended her hand.

He grasped it in his own and covered it with rapturous kisses. "From this blissful hour, then, thou art my betrothed; and to-morrow I shall ask the consent of madame to our marriage. Or hast thou relatives whom I must know and propitiate?"

At this innocent question, Laura's youth and animal spirits got the better of her sentiment. She laughed heartily. "What!" cried she, "you do not know who I am?"

"No, sweetest; I know not, I care not who thou art. What have I to do with thy surroundings? I love thee--only thee. If thou hast father and mother, I will throw myself at their feet, and beg their blessing for us both."

Laura's hilarity had all vanished. As Eugene had spoken of her father and mother, her cheeks had blanched, and the smile had died from the rosy lips. "Alas!" cried she, clasping her hands, "he knows not who I am!"

"I know thou art an angel, and that is enough to make me the happiest of men."

"True, true," murmured Laura. "When my grandmother retired from court, he was but a boy."

"And had I been a man, what to me are the comings and goings of the ladies of the court?" said Eugene, simply. "But why art thou troubled, my beloved?"

"Alas! alas!" murmured Laura, her eyes filling with tears. "May G.o.d grant that you spoke the truth, Eugene de Carignan, when you said that you cared not who was my father or my mother!"

"So help me Heaven, I do not care!" was the fervent response, while he gazed pa.s.sionately upon his new-found treasure.

She bent her head, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Eugene,"

said she, almost gasping for breath, "I bear my mother's name; but I am the daughter of your bitterest enemy, Louvois."

Eugene started back in horror. "Louvois! Louvois!" echoed he, mournfully. "And Barbesieur, her brother!"

"Not my own brother," cried Laura, terrified at the effect of her revelation. "Before I had seen you, I approved your act, and bade G.o.d bless the son that had avenged his mother's wrongs upon her traducer. Ah, Eugene! my affianced, say that you do not hate me! I knew that you were the son of the Countess de Soissons, and yet I loved YOU!--perhaps the more, that Barbesieur was your enemy."

"And I love you, my own one, despite your parentage. I love you so far beyond all feelings of pride or enmity, that I am ready to humble myself before my mother's enemy, and be to him a son."

"He will never receive you as such," cried she, bitterly. "Woe is me, if he should learn what has transpired to-night between us! He would part us by force."