Prince Eugene and His Times Part 108

After a pause, he spoke: "Father, have you forgotten my presence?"

Louvois opened his eyes wearily. "No; I have not forgotten it."

"You do not ask me about the result of my expedition," said Barbesieur.

"Nor do you seem to think it inc.u.mbent upon you to ask wherefore I suffer, or why I am here instead of being where I ought to be, at the fiancailles of Mademoiselle de Blois," replied Louvois, whom his son's indifference had stung to returning energy.

"What care I for the fiancailles of Mademoiselle de Blois?" answered Barbesieur. "And as regards your indisposition, it is not the first time that I have seen you similarly affected. These congestions invariably leave you stronger than they find you; so let us pa.s.s on to affairs more momentous. I have to inform you that my expedition to Italy has resulted in a disastrous failure. Have you seen my courier?"

"No, I have not seen him, but I know that you were guilty of sending me written dispatches on a subject which pen should never have recorded."

"Oh!" sneered the dutiful son, "you are better, I see, for you grow abusive. Then I suppose my courier has been arrested?"

"Ay, and your letters are in the hands of Louis XIV."

"Can it be possible?" cried Barbesieur, anxiously. "How came he in possession of them?"

"They were given him by the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans."

"But she--"

"She received them from her step-daughter, the d.u.c.h.ess of Savoy. Not only them, but your imbecile-written promise to Strozzi that his wife would return to him as soon as Prince Eugene was dead."

"It was a blunder, I admit," returned Barbesieur. "But the idiot had so set his heart upon it that I was forced to yield to his whims; there was no other way of controlling him. I had no sooner given him this paper, than he became as plastic as clay."

"Nevertheless, Laura is dead, and Eugene of Savoy lives."

"Oh, yes--the thing miscarried, but how, I cannot conceive. I was close at hand, waiting with horses for Strozzi, who was to seize Laura, and make all speed for Italy. I waited so long, that at last I ventured to creep up to the house, and there I learned how Strozzi had stabbed Laura, and Eugene had shot Strozzi. As soon as I found out that all had gone awry, I galloped off to Bonaletta, to get my share of Strozzi's and Laura's property. But the covetous relations would not let me lay a finger on Laura's estates, without your written authorization. That brought me hurriedly to Paris. I want it at once, that I may return to Bonaletta to-day."

"You must remain for a while longer," said Louvois.

"And why, pray?"

"Because you must at least wait until my funeral is over," replied the unhappy father.

Barbesieur began to laugh. "Oh, papa! pray don't get sentimental.

People are not apt to die of these little vexations. I suppose the king was rude, as he has been many a day before this--was he?"

"He was more than rude; in presence of all his n.o.bles he accused me of partic.i.p.ation in Laura's murder, and banished me from court until I returned with proofs of my innocence."

"H'm--" muttered Barbesieur. "The affair looks ugly."

"Insulted before the whole court," murmured Louvois.

"Pshaw! Don't take it so much to heart. It is not your first affront. You know full well that if old women get the better of you to-day, you will outwit them to-morrow. Witness your feud of years with De Maintenon."

"I shall not outwit them this time, Barbesieur. The d.u.c.h.ess has played her cards too dexterously for me to escape. Nor would the king befriend me; he is under too many obligations to me not to desire my humiliation and my ruin. Moreover, he is anxious to propitiate the Duke of Savoy, and will give him full satisfaction for the attempt on the life of his kinsman. I am lost--irretrievably lost!"

"Then so much the more imperative is it for us to lay the foundation of some new structure of fortune elsewhere.--Luckily, Laura's large estates in Italy are all-sufficient to make you a very rich man yet.

So give me authority to act for you; I will go at once and take possession, while you arrange your affairs at home, and then follow me to Italy."

"He thinks of nothing but wealth," murmured Louvois; "he has no shame for loss of reputation or good name."

"Nonsense!" said Barbesieur, with a coa.r.s.e laugh; "no man that has money loses reputation. Poverty is the only crime that the world cannot pardon, and you, thanks to the Marchioness Bonaletta, have just inherited a fortune."

Louvois shuddered. "A fortune through the murder of my child!"

"For which we are not accountable," said Barbesieur, carelessly. "We owe that obligation to Strozzi. and I must say it Was the only sensible thing I ever knew him to do."

"Silence!" cried Louvois, incensed. "If you have no respect for the living, have some reverence for the dead!"

Barbesieur rose with a yawn. "I see that my honored father is not in a mood for reasonable conversation. Here comes the surgeon with his lancet. Perhaps, when you have lost a few quarts of your bad blood, you may see things in a better light." So saying, he sauntered out of the room. With scorn and hatred in his eye, Louvois watched him until he disappeared from sight; then turning to the surgeon, who had entered by another door--

"Be quick, and take some blood from my veins, or I shall suffocate!"

A half an hour later, the operation was over, and Louvois felt much relieved. His face was pale, his eyes no longer bloodshot, and the surgeon having prescribed rest, the disgraced favorite was left alone.

He sat propped up in his arm-chair, staring at vacancy--his solitude embittered by the recollection of what he was, and what he had been.

The stately edifice of greatness, which he had spent a lifetime in erecting, had fallen like a chateau de cartes, leaving nothing behind but the stinging recollection of a glorious past. He could not outlive it--he could not retire to obscurity--he--

Suddenly he shivered, and gazed with eyes distended at the figure of a woman that now stood against the portiere opposite. Great G.o.d! had delirium seized upon his senses? Were the memories of his youth about to take shape and form, and mingle their shadowy images with the tangible realities of life! He knew her--tall, beautiful, pale as she was--and the recognition filled him with terror indefinable.

He knew her well! In her youth he had loved her, but she had scorned his love, because she was cherishing the hope of becoming Queen of France! This triumph had been denied her, and she had hidden her disappointment by a marriage with another. And fearfully had Louvois avenged her rejection of his love! He had cited her as a criminal, before the highest tribunal in France, and had driven her into exile. Destiny had also given him power to crush her son--to blast his life as a lover, and his good name as a man. But ah! that daughter whom Eugene had loved! He had blasted her life also, and had given her over to a monster that had murdered her! So young, so lovely, so attractive! She had died to gratify the malice of her own father!

Like a lightning-flash these thoughts glanced athwart his brain, while, breathless and terror-stricken, he gazed upon the spectre that stood against the portiere!

Was it a spectre, or some delusion of his disordered mind? She stood motionless as a marble statue of Nemesis; but those eyes--those glowing eyes--there was life and hate in their fiery depths!

Louvois had not the power to look away; he was as spellbound as a bird under the glance of the basilisk.

"Olympia!" cried he, at last, with a supreme effort to dissolve the spell.

She threw back her proud head, and came directly in front of his chair. "You recognise me," said she, in tones of icy hauteur. "I was waiting before I spoke, to see whether you had forgotten me."

"What brings you hither?" stammered he, confusedly.

"Destiny," replied she, sternly. "Louvois, G.o.d is just, for He has chosen me to be the instrument of your destruction. I was travelling through Turin to nurse my son, who was not expected to live. I learned that his illness was of the heart--not of the body. His Laura had been murdered before his eyes, and, for love of her, he was in danger of dying. Ah, Louvois! it was the second time you had almost robbed me of my child! But G.o.d is just! To my hands were confided the proofs of your partic.i.p.ation in the crime of your daughter's a.s.sa.s.sination, and it was I that delivered them to the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans. She had her Laura's death to avenge, I--great G.o.d! what had I not? The humiliation of my flight from France--my persecution by strangers in a foreign land--my son's lifelong sorrow!--But ah! you, that drove him from his native country, have fallen, to rise no more, while Eugene's name is but another word throughout the world for genius and valor."

Louvois' teeth chattered with fear. He raised his hand, as if to implore forbearance. She gave him, in return, a look of scorn.

"All Paris rings with your disgrace. The populace are before your windows, ready, at a signal, to a.s.sault your palace, as, at your son's instigation, they once a.s.sailed mine. Your servants are stealing away, and you are forsaken! Poor, fallen, powerless Louvois!"

"Not so," screamed Louvois, "not so! If I am powerless it is because I am dying!" And, with a pa.s.sionate gesture, he tore the bandages from his arm.

The blood gushed out like water from a fountain, and Olympia looked on for a while in cruel enjoyment of her enemy's mortal agony. But her hatred was unclouded by pa.s.sion.

"It were a kindness to suffer you to die now," said she; and her words fell like sharp icicles upon his poor, lacerated heart. "But you shall live to endure the contumely you forced upon me and mine!

Farewell! I go to call for help."