So saying, he laid a purse of gold at Lucretia's feet, and covered her hand with kisses.

"I shall want to consult you frequently, dear marquis," observed Lucretia.

"I shall always be at your service."

"And now, I take it as a matter of course, that what has passed between us this morning is to remain a profound secret."

"As a matter of course, signora, it goes no further," returned De Villars, [Footnote: "Memoirs of the Marquis de Villurs," vol. i., p. 104.] "and to insure perfect secrecy, you must pretend not to know me when we meet abroad. Not even the elector—or, perhaps I should say, above all men, the elector is not to know of my visit. I must, therefore, take my leave. for—hark! your clock strikes one, and lovers are sure to be punctual."

"I shall expect you every morning at eleven; and so we can take counsel together, and I can report daily progress to you."

"Aurevoir, then, signora. Allow me one word more. If, before the close of the carnival, you leave Venice in company with the elector, I shall take the liberty of refunding to you the entire cost of the refurnishing of your palace to-day, as compensation for its temporary loss. And now, fairest of the allies of France, adieu!"

The French ambassador had hardly time to make his escape, before the doors of the drawing-room were flung open, and the lackey announced, "His highness the Elector of Bavaria!"



CHAPTER VII.

THE LOVERS REUNITED.

Two weeks had elapsed since that unhappy meeting between Eugene and Laura—two weeks of expectation and hope frustrated. In vain had Eugene attempted to reach her with a message; in vain had he remained for hours before her windows; in vain had Antonio tried to penetrate into her presence. Day after day came the same sorrowful news: the marchioness was very ill, and no one was allowed to pass the threshold of the palace. Her husband watched day and night at her bedside, and, excepting Mademoiselle Victorine, no living creature was allowed to enter her room.

When, for the fourteenth time, Antonio returned unsuccessful from his mission, Eugene became so agitated and grew so pale that the bravo was touched to the heart, and, taking the prince's hand, covered it with kisses.

"Do not be so cast down, excellenza," said he, imploringly; "have courage, and hope for the best."

"Oh, Antonio!" murmured the prince, "she is dead!"

"No, excellenza, no! I swear to you that she lives, nor do I believe one word of this rumored illness."

"Why should you not believe it, my friend?"

"Because I know the marquis well; and this is merely a pretext for keeping his wife imprisoned."

"Thank you, Antonio, thank you," replied Eugene, "for this ray of hope. Then I depend upon you to deliver my message sooner or later. Remember my words: 'The Prince of Savoy knows why the marchioness did not speak to him. He lives, loves, and hopes.' And if you will but return to me with one word from her lips, I will feel grateful to you for life, Antonio."

"I will serve you with my life, excellenza," said Antonio, bowing and leaving the room.

He had not been long away, before the door was opened, and Conrad announced the Elector of Bavaria.

"I have come to entice the hermit of the Capello out of his cell," cried Max Emmanuel. "My dear Eugene, was ever a man so obstinate a recluse? Every time I come I am told that you are at the arsenal, the dock-yards, the armory, a picture-gallery, or some other retreat of arts and sciences."

"Well, dear Max, I am a student, and find much to learn in Venice."

"To whom do you say that?" cried Max, laughing. "As if I, too, were not a student, only that my tastes lie not in the same direction as yours, and as if I were not making tremendous progress in my studies!"

"No wonder: you are far advanced in every branch of learning, while I am but a neophyte."

"No such thing; you are much more deeply learned than I; but you are the victim of an unfortunate passion which you are striving to smother under a weight of study, while I—I, my dear fellow, am distancing you every hour of the day, for my studies are all concentrated upon the 'art of love.'"

"God speed you, then, and deliver you from the malady that is wasting away my life!"

"You are an incomprehensible being, Eugene. I cannot comprehend your dogged fidelity to such an abstraction as a woman whom you never see. You have not trusted me with your secret, and yet I might have done you some service had you been more frank with me."

"You mock me," replied Eugene, gloomily.

"No, Eugene, I do not mock you. I know your secret, despite your taciturnity. I know that you love the Marchioness Strozzi, and that the jealousy of her husband is such that you have not been able to speak a word with her since your arrival in Venice."

"Who could have told you?"

"My houri—she whose love has made of Venice a Mussulman's paradise to me. Oh, Eugene! I am the happiest man alive! I am beloved and loved for myself. My beautiful mistress is noble and rich; she refuses all my gifts, and yet she is about to give me unequivocal proof of her love: she is about to leave her lovely Italian home, and fly with me to Munich."

"Are you about to leave Venice so soon?"

"The archduchess is dangerously ill, and yesterday a courier was sent to summon me home. And, would you believe it? my Lucretia consents to accompany me, on condition that I force no gifts upon her acceptance, but allow her to furnish her house in Munich at her own expense. Did you ever hear of such disinterestedness? Now I am about to give you a proof of my confidence, and tell you the name of my mistress. It is the Countess Canossa. Well!—You are not overjoyed? You do not understand!—"

"How should I be overjoyed or understand, when I do not know the lady, Max?"

"Great goodness, is it possible that this unconscionable snail has lived so closely in his shell that he does not know how fortunate for him it is, that the Countess Canossa loves me! Hear me, Eugene. My Lucretia is the sister of the Marquis de Strozzi."

"My enemy!" murmured Eugene, his brow suddenly darkening.

"Yes; but not his sister's friend; for although he makes a confidante of her, she hates him. Except Victorine, the countess is the only person permitted to have access to her sister-in-law's apartments."

Eugene's eyes now brightened with expectation, and he looked gratefully up into the elector's handsome, flushed face.

"Yes, Eugene, yes," continued Max, "and through her angelic goodness, you shall visit your Laura. To-day, Lucretia appears as Mary Stuart, at a masked entertainment given by Admiral Mocenigo. Before she goes, she is to show off her dress to the poor prisoner of the Palazzo Strozzi. Her long train is to be borne by a page, who of course will have to follow whithersoever Mary Stuart goes. This page is to be yourself, my boy!"

Eugene threw himself into the elector's arms. He was too happy for speech.

At noon, on the same day, the gondola of the Countess Canossa stopped before the Palazzo Strozzi. The countess, dressed in a magnificent costume, went slowly up the marble stairs, her long train of white satin borne by a page in purple velvet. His face, like that of his mistress, was hidden by a mask; and the broad red scarf which was tied around his slender waist, confined a small dagger whose hilt was set in precious stones. His eyes were so large and bright that the mask could not entirely conceal their beauty; and it was perhaps because of their splendor that the porter hesitated to admit him within the palace.

The countess, who had gone a few steps before, turned carelessly round, and asked why her page did not follow.

"Your ladyship," replied Beppo, the porter, "the marquis has forbidden the admission of strangers."

"And you call that poor, little fellow of mine a stranger? You might as well ask me to cut off my train, as expect me to wear it without my page!—Come, Filippo, come!"

Filippo passed on, while the old porter grumbled.

"Never mind, Beppo," said the countess, looking back kindly, "I will tell my brother of your over-watchfulness, and inform him what a love of a Cerberus he has for a porter." And on she went, having reached the top of the staircase, before Filippo and the train had gone half way.

Mademoiselle Victorine was awaiting their arrival, and made a profound courtesy to Lucretia.

"Signora, the marchioness awaits you in her boudoir."

"And the marquis knows that I am here?"

"Yes, signora. He was anxious to accompany you in your visit to my lady; but she would not consent; and you know that he dares not go without it. He never has crossed the threshold of her dressing- room."

"I know it well. Now go and announce my visit to her. But first, go to the marquis and tell him that, as soon as I shall have returned from the apartments of my sister-in-law, I wish to see him in his cabinet, on important business."

This was spoken in an elevated tone, so that all the spies, whom Lucretia knew to be eavesdropping around, might hear her words and repeat them.

"I go, signora," replied Victorine, in the same tone; but she added in a whisper to the page, "For God's sake, be discreet!"

The lady's maid, in obedience to Lucretia's orders, went directly to the cabinet of Strozzi, while the countess proceeded in an opposite direction. At the end of the grand corridor was a lofty door, which, being shut, the countess remained stationary; while Filippo, who seemed not to have remarked it, went on with his train, until he stood immediately behind his mistress.

She chided him for his familiarity. "Back, Filippo," said she, impatiently. "When I stop, how do you presume to go on? You are too unmannerly for a page!"

Filippo murmured a few unintelligible words, and retreated, while the countess knocked several times at the door.

"It is I, Laura, the Countess de Canossa."

If anybody had been near, the beatings of poor Filippo's heart might have been heard during the pause that ensued before the door was opened. At length its heavy panels were seen to move, and a sweet, soft, voice was heard:

"Come in, dear Lucretia."

The countess disappeared within; but scarcely had she entered the room before she grasped Laura's arm, and hurried her into the room beyond.

"Not here, not here," whispered she. "Go into your private apartment, Laura. In this one you would be unsafe. There will be listeners at the door."

Laura made no reply; she flew back and disappeared behind the portiere that led into her boudoir. The countess looked back at her page, who leaned trembling against a marble column close by.

"Shut the door, Filippo," said she, "and await me here. I will see the marchioness in her boudoir, and Mademoiselle Victorine will be back presently, to entertain you."

The door was shut, and Filippo, letting Mary Stuart's train drop without further ceremony, sprang forward and touched the arm of his royal mistress.

"Where is she?"

"In her boudoir." The page would have gone thither at once; but Lucretia stopped him. "Mark my words well. Speak low; and when Victorine summons you away, obey at once, for delay may cost you your life. And now, impatient youth, begone!"

They were together. Laura would have sprung forward to meet him, but emotion paralyzed her limbs, and chained her to the floor. He clasped her in his loving arms, kissed her again and again, and each felt the wild throbbing of the other's heart. Forgotten were the long years of their parting, forgotten all doubt, all anguish. It seemed but yesterday that they had plighted their troth in that moonlit pavilion; and nothing lay between, save one long night which now had passed away, leaving the dawn of a day that was radiant with sunshine.

"I have thee once more, my own! Close—close to my heart, and would to God thou couldst grow there, blending our dual being into one!"

"Not once more, my Eugene, for thou hast never lost me. I have kept unstained the faith I pledged, and never have I belonged to any man but thee!"

"But alas, my treasure, I may not possess thee! Let me at least drink my fill of thy beauty, my Laura!"

She drew him gently to her divan, and there, just as he had done in the pavilion, he knelt at her feet, and gazed, enraptured, in her face. With her little white hands she stroked his black locks, and lifted them from his pale, high brow.

"My hero," murmured she, tenderly. "Thou hast decked that brow with laurels since I loved thee, Eugene; and the world has heard of thee and of thy deeds of valor. I knew it would be so; I knew that the God of the brave would shield thy dear head in the day of battle, and lift thee to mountain-heights of glory and renown."

"And yet I would so gladly have yielded up my life, Laura! What was life without thee? One long night of anguish, to which death would have been glorious day! Oh, Laura! that day—that fearful day—on which I was bereft of thee!"

She laid her hand upon his lips. "Do not think of it, beloved, or thou wilt mar the ecstasy of the present. I, too, have suffered— more, it must have been more, than thou! And yet in all my anguish I was happy; for I was faithful, though sorely tried, and never, never despaired of thy coming."

"And yet thou art the wife of another."

"Say not so. When the priest laid my hand in his, I laid it in thine. To thee were my promises of fidelity, to thee I plighted my troth. That another—a liar and deceiver, should have inserted his odious name for thine, laid his dishonored hand in mine, has never bound ME! I was, I am, I will ever be thine, so help me, God! who heard the oath I swore, and knew that, swearing, I believed thee there!"

"And I could doubt her, my love, my wife! Forgive me, Laura, that in my madness I should have accused thee."

"All is forgotten, for I have thee here!"

It was well for these impassioned lovers that a friend watched for them without. Lucretia had mounted guard for half an hour, when Victorine returned to say that the marquis would be glad to see his sister; her visit had lasted long enough.

"Take my place, then, Victorine; holt the door, and admit nobody."

"Oh, signora, if the marquis finds us out, he will assassinate me!" said Victorine, trembling.

"He will not find us out; and you can very well endure some little uneasiness, when for a few nervous twitches you are to receive two thousand sequins. Think that, by to-night, you will be on your way to Paris."

"Would to God I were there, away from this frightful robbers' nest!"

Lucretia laughed. "You flatter the city of Venice. But I am not surprised that you are not in love with the Palazzo Strozzi, for when its master is contradicted, he is a raging tiger, whose thirst nothing save human blood will quench."

"O God! O Lord! I am almost dead with fright!"

"Have patience, mademoiselle. Look at yonder clock on the mantel. Precisely at the expiration of one hour, come with your message to my brother's cabinet. That will be the signal for your release. Are your effects out of the palace?"

"Yes, signora; they are all at the hotel of the Marquis de Villars."

"And the gondola of the elector will be here to speak the prince's adieux. Now remain just where you are; and, instead of opening your ears to what is passing in yonder boudoir, make use of your leisure to say your prayers, which you may possibly have forgotten this morning."

The countess lifted up her long train, and, passing it over her arm, went on her way to meet the amiable Strozzi.

"Really, Ottario," said she, entering the cabinet, "your palace is singularly like a prison. As I came through the corridor, I felt as if I were passing over the Ponte de' Sospiri. The atmosphere of the place is heavy with your jealous sighs."

"True; there is little happiness under the marble dome of my palace. But let us speak of other things. What can I do to serve you?"

"You seem to intimate that I can never desire to speak with you, except to ask a favor."

"I find that, generally speaking, the case."

"For once you are mistaken. I want nothing from you whatever."

"You seem to have grown rich by some legerdemain or other, Lucretia. I hear that you have refitted your palace with great magnificence. Has Canossa come into a fortune? or has he been winning at the card- table?"

"Neither; but it was precisely of my newly acquired wealth that I came to speak with you. I am about to quit Venice, perhaps forever; and before leaving I wished to have an explanation with you."

"Gracious Heaven! who will take your place by Laura?"

"Very flattering that my departure occasions no emotion in my brother's fond heart, save regret for the loss of his spy! But never mind, I overlook the slight, and proceed with my confession."

So Lucretia went over all the humiliations and hardships she had undergone within the past six months; and, after dwelling pathetically upon her own sufferings, she related the manner of her meeting with the Elector of Bavaria, and its consequences. They loved each other to adoration; he lavished every gift upon her that his wealth could purchase, and now she was about to give him substantial proof of her attachment, by going off with him to Munich. No mention was made, in the recital, of her episode with the French minister.

The countess had barely arrived at the end of her confidences, when a knock was heard, and Mademoiselle Victorine walked in with a message from the marchioness.

"What message?" cried Strozzi, rising at once to receive it.

"Pardon me, excellenza, it is only a message for the signora," said Victorine, courtesying. "My lady wishes to know if the countess has the French book that she promised to bring to-day?"

"Dear me! I had forgotten it," cried the countess. "But stay, Victorine, it is in the gondola below. Let little Filippo go after it."

"Who is Filippo?" asked the marquis, frowning.

"My page, to be sure. Have you never seen him? Of course I could not carry Mary Stuart's long train up the staircase without a page to help me."

"And he is here, in the palace?"

"Of course he is: where else should the child be but here with me? And, as I was not anxious to have him eavesdropping about your cabinet while we were conversing, I gave him in charge to Victorine."

"I shall discharge Beppo," growled the marquis. "How dared he—"

"Let me intercede for poor Beppo," laughed Lucretia. "He would have kept out Filippo, but I insisted that your prohibition could not extend to boys, and I insisted upon having him to carry my train. Since his presence here annoys you, he shall be made to leave, and await me in my gondola."

"But the book, signora," said Victorine, with quivering lip.

"True—the book for Laura. Will you permit Victorine to go with Filippo, and get it? But bless me! Without her protection, Beppo would not allow him to pass. You consent for her to accompany him?"

"Yes," said Strozzi, roughly. "But if ever you come again, leave your page at home."

"The watchword, signor?" asked Victorine.

"Venetia," returned Strozzi.

"What!" exclaimed Lucretia, "does Victorine, too, need a password to leave the palace? My dear brother, I admire your genius! You are qualified to make a first-rate jailer."

Mademoiselle Victorine had not tarried to hear the ironical compliment of the countess. She flew along the corridor to the apartments of the marchioness, and, first knocking at the door, she drew back the portiere.

"Your highness," said she, "the hour has expired." Then dropping the portiere, that the lovers might part without witnesses, she waited without.

Laura's arms were around his neck. Eugene drew her passionately to his heart. "Must I then go without thee?" murmured he.

"Yes, my Eugene; this time thou goest alone. But be patient and hopeful, and thy spouse will find means to escape from her jailer."

"I cannot go," cried Eugene, despairingly. "Nor can I leave my enemy's house like a frightened cur, while the woman I love remains to bear his anger. He must—he shall renounce my wife!"

"That is, you would see me murdered before your eyes!" exclaimed Laura, well knowing what argument would move him most to discretion. "Eugene, he has sworn to assassinate me, if I ever speak to you— and, believe me, he will keep his oath."

"And I must leave my treasure in his bloodthirsty hands?" cried the prince, pressing her still more closely in his arms.

"The tiger will do me no harm, Eugene, if thou wilt go before he sees thee."

"Your highness," said Victorine, imploringly through the portiere, "for God's sake, tarry no longer!"

Laura, freeing herself from his embrace, led him to the door. "Farewell, my beloved," said she. "God is merciful, and will reunite us."

"One more look into those dear eyes, one more kiss from those sweet lips."

"Oh, your highness!" whispered Victorine, a second time.

Laura raised the portiere, and led him forward. She saw Victorine reach him his mask, and then, darting back into her boudoir, she fell upon her knees, and prayed for an hour.

Meanwhile the Countess Lucretia was still discussing her affairs; but she seemed to have become absent-minded, sometimes stopping suddenly in her sp'eech to listen, occasionally directing anxious glances toward the windows.

The marquis was too keen for these symptoms to escape his penetration.

"Are you watching or waiting for any thing?" asked he.

"Yes," replied she, "I await something, and—oh! there it is!"

As she spoke these last words, a voice from the water called out three times: "Addio! addio! addio!"

"Do you know what that 'addio' signifies?" asked Lucretia.

"How can I understand the signals that pass between you and your loves?"

"I will tell you what it means," said she, looking full into her brother's face. "I—but no! your eyes glare too fiercely just now; you are ready for a spring, and I dare not wait to be devoured. Addio, Ottario, addio. Take this note, and swear that you will not open it before ten minutes."

"What childishness!" exclaimed Strozzi, rudely.

"You will not? Then you shall not see its contents, which, nevertheless, concern your Laura."

"Laura!—Then I swear that I will not open it before ten minutes."

"It is on the table. Be careful how you break your oath. You would not be safe were you to unfold that paper before ten minutes."

So saying, she kissed her hand, and tripped merrily away to her gondola.

At the expiration of the time required, Strozzi took up the paper, and broke its seal. It contained the following:

"MY DEAR BROTHER: You sold me to Count Canossa, and you have degraded me to the trade of a spy. You have forced me, more than once, to play the dragon by your poor, unhappy wife; but I have repaid her for my unkindness, and have avenged myself also. My little Filippo is Prince Eugene, and he is to remain alone with your wife, exactly as long as I converse with you in your cabinet. The three 'addios' which you will have heard ere this from the Canale, signify that the prince has reached his gondola, and is safe. Also that Mademoiselle Victorine, my accomplice, has fled. You gave her ten ducats for each betrayal of her mistress; we offered two thousand sequins, and of course she betrayed you. Addio!"

To describe the fury of the marquis would be impossible. But his paroxysm of rage over, he at once began to revolve in his mind the means of revenge.

"There must be an end to this martyrdom," said he. "It must end!" He looked at the clock. "'Tis time Antonio were here, and he shall do it."

He struck three times on his little bell, and the door in the wall glided back, giving entrance to Antonio.



CHAPTER VIII.

ANTONIO'S EXPIATION.

The next morning Antonio asked admittance to the cabinet of his new employer.

"Your highness," said he, "I have seen the marchioness."

"What greeting does she send, good Antonio?"

"My lord, she awaits Filippo at eight o'clock this evening."

"She awaits me!" echoed Eugene. "And you are to conduct me to her?"

"Yes, my lord. I am acquainted with the secret passages of the palace. I will show you the way, and, as God in heaven hears me, I will bring you safely back."

"How solemnly you speak, Antonio!"

"Ah, excellenza, it is easier to enter that palace than to leave it! But you shall leave it in safety, as I hope to be saved from perdition!"

"At what hour did you say?"

"At eight this evening. And now, my lord, allow me to leave you for a time. The marquis requires me to remain at the palace, and I must be punctual, or he will suspect me. You will be obliged to engage another commissionnaire; but, believe me, I shall better serve you in the palace than here."

Antonio was allowed to depart; but instead of going toward the Strozzi palace, he betook himself to that of the Elector of Bavaria, where the household were in that state of confusion which precedes a departure. The elector had chosen to leave Venice by night.

"I have an important message from my lord, Prince Eugene of Savoy to his highness of Bavaria," said Antonio, making his way through the busy throng of servants. "Is he in his cabinet?"

"Yes, The chamberlain is in the anteroom. He will announce you."

"His highness will receive the messenger of Prince Eugene," was the reply; and Antonio, having been admitted, had a conversation of some length with the elector, which left the latter in a state of great agitation.

"I wish it were in my power to render assistance; but I dare not. He made me promise that I would not interfere in any way; and I must keep my word. I would but act in the dark, and might ruin him.—And now to Lucretia, to devise other means of rescue, if these should fail—" After leaving the elector, Antonio directed his steps toward the prison near the palace of the doge. The porter that stood near the grated door looked searchingly at the mask that presumed to tarry before those dismal gates whereof he was the guardian.

"Would you earn a thousand sequins?" said Antonio, in a whisper.

"How?" asked the porter, opening his eyes like two full moons.

"Do you know in which cell Catherina Giamberta is confined?"

"Yes, I know."

"Take this flower to her. It is her birthday, and she loves flowers. Tell her it comes from Antonio, and ask her to send him the ribbon she wears around her neck. If you return with it, I will give you one thousand sequins."

He handed the porter a large rose, whose stem was carefully wrapped in paper. Christiano scarcely saw what it was, so dazzled were his eyes by the approaching glitter of a thousand sequins. But he thrust it in his bosom, drew the bolts of his prison, and disappeared within its gloomy depths.

Antonio leaned his head against the clammy prison-wall and waited. In half an hour the turnkey returned.

"Have you your thousand sequins with you?" asked he.

"Here they are," said Antonio, drawing from his cloak a purse, through whose dingy silk meshes the gold was visible.

The turnkey put his hand through the grate, and Antonio saw a faded, yellow paper, tied with a silken cord. He took the packet, and in return gave Christiano the purse. As he did so, he said: "Make good use of it; I have passed through five years of misery to earn it. Make good use of it, and if you will have a mass said for the repose of my soul, 'tis all I ask in addition to the service you have just rendered me."

He turned away, and, hurriedly taking the direction of St. Mark's, entered a side-door, and stood within its sacred walls. The church was empty and dimly lighted. Antonio knelt down behind one of the pillars, and opened the paper.

It contained a lock of golden hair—the hair of a child. The bravo pressed it to his lips, and, murmuring a few fond words, laid it lovingly upon his heart, and began to pray. When his prayer was ended, he approached a confessional wherein sat an old Benedictine monk, and, kneeling down, began his confession.

The recital was a long, and apparently a terrible one; for more than once the monk shuddered, and his venerable face was mournfully upraised as if in prayer for the penitent. When Antonio ceased, he remained silent, still praying.

"Reverend father," murmured the bravo, "may I not receive absolution for my sins!"

"Yes, my son, you shall receive such absolution as it rests with me to give. If, as I hope, you are truly repentant, God will do the rest. You have sinned grievously, but you are ready to expiate." And the priest performed the ceremony of absolution.

"Reverend father, give me your blessing—your blessing in articulo mortis."

"Come hither and receive it."

Antonio emerged from the confessional, and knelt on the marble pavement, while the rays from a stained window above fell upon his head like a soft, golden halo. The priest, too, stepped out, and, laying his hand upon that bowed head, made the sign of the cross, and blessed him in articulo mortis. Then going slowly up the aisle, and kneeling within the sanctuary, he passed the night in praying for a soul that was about to depart this world.



CHAPTER IX.

THE DUNGEON.

The clock on the Campanillo of St. Mark's struck eight. The day of longing expectation had at last worn away, and Eugene was once more to be admitted to the presence of his beloved.

Before leaving his cabinet he had sent for Antonio, and, reaching him a purse of gold, had said: "Here, my brave—here are two hundred ducats. Take this purse, and, when you make use of its contents, remember that I gave it as a token of my gratitude for your fidelity and friendship."

"No, your highness," replied Antonio, in a tearful voice—"no, your highness, I need no gold. If you would give me a souvenir, let me have the glove that has covered the right hand of a hero whose sword has never been unsheathed save in the cause of right."

"Singular man," exclaimed Eugene, "take them both, and believe that I thank you for your attachment. And now, let us away!"

"Yes, my lord; but I implore you, not this rich cloak of velvet. Take this black wrapping of cloth; it is more appropriate for an adventure such as ours."

The little gondola lay moored at the stairs, without gondolier or light. Nobody was there except Eugene and Antonio, who rowed without help. They made for a channel leading to a wing of the Palace Strozzi, whose dark, frowning walls, unrelieved by one single opening, were laved by the foul and turbid waters of the narrow estuary. Antonio's practised eye discovered the low opening that gave access to the palace; and, after fastening his gondola to a ring in the wall, he knocked three times at the door. It was opened, and they entered a small vestibule, dimly lighted, where they were confronted by a man who asked for the password.

Antonio whispered something in his ear, and they were permitted to ascend a steep, narrow staircase leading to a passage so contracted that Eugene's shoulders touched on either side, as he struggled along toward a second staircase. When they had reached the last step, Antonio said: "We have no farther to go. Pass in, signor, and, whatever ensues, remember that you must patiently await my return."

A door opened, Eugene passed through, and it closed behind him. He was in a room of singular shape and construction. It was a rotunda, whose blank walls were without opening whatsoever; neither door nor window was to be seen therein. Suspended from the lofty ceiling was an iron chain, to which was attached a small lamp, whose light fell directly over a table that stood in the centre of the room. On the table lay a piece of bread and a glass of water; near it was placed a wooden chair, and this was all the furniture contained within the dismal apartment.

"A dungeon," said Eugene to himself. "One of those dungeons of which I have heard, but in whose existence I never believed until now."

He was perfectly collected; but he comprehended his position, and knew that he had been betrayed. He had been lured into this secret prison, there to die without a sign! But he must make one desperate effort to escape. Death he could confront—even the death that stared him in the face; but to know that Laura would be doomed to a life of utter wretchedness, was a thought that almost unsettled his reason.

He surveyed the place, and then felt every stone, every crevice, that came within his reach. As he raised his mournful eyes to look above him, the wall just below the ceiling began to move, a small window was opened, and within its iron frame appeared a pale, sinister face—the face of the Marquis de Strozzi.

Eugene tore the mask from his face, and his large eyes flashed with scorn.

"Assassin!" cried he, "cowardly assassin!"

The marquis laughed; he could afford to laugh. "Yes." said he, "I am any thing you may please to term me; but you, Prince of Savoy, are no longer among the living. Your days are numbered: farewell!"

The window closed, and the wall moved slowly back until no trace of the opening was to be seen. A dungeon! A grave! Eugene of Savoy would die of hunger! no human ear would hear his dying plaint; within a few steps of one that loved him he would disappear from earth; and, until the great day whereon hell would yield up its secrets of horror to the Eternal Judge, his fate would remain a mystery! Alas! alas! And was this to be the end of his aspirations for glory?

But hark! What sound is that? The invisible door, for which he had been groping in vain, was once more opened, and Antonio glided noiselessly into the room.

He raised his hand in token of warning. "Not a word, my lord," whispered he. "I come to save you."

"To save me, traitor! You, the despicable tool of Strozzi?"

"Oh, my lord! Have mercy, have mercy! Every moment is precious: listen to me, listen to me!"

Antonio sank on his knees, the mask dropped from his face, and his pale, suffering countenance wore any aspect but that of treachery.

"In the name of the Marchioness Laura Bonaletta, hear me," said he, imploringly.

"Laura Bonaletta!" echoed Eugene, in a voice of piercing anguish. "What can such as you know of Laura Bonaletta?"

Antonio gave him a folded paper containing these few lines: "If thou lovest me, do as Antonio bids thee. If thou wouldst not have me die of grief, accept thy life from Antonio's hands, and oh, love! believe me, we shall meet again. Thy Laura."

Eugene pressed the paper to his lips, and when he looked at Antonio again, his eye had lost its sternness, and about his lips there fluttered a sad smile.

"What does this mean, Antonio?" said he.

"Excellenza, it means that I was a hardened sinner until you rescued my soul from perdition. Would that I had time to lay before you the sins of my whole life, that you might know from what depths of crime you delivered me! But time is precious. I can only say that I am no brave soldier that was scarred in battle. This wound upon my face was from the hand of my father, and, for the crime of his murder, my right hand was hewed by the arm of the executioner. Nay—do not start, my dear, dear lord! 'Tis you that brought me to repentance; 'tis you that inspired me to seek reconciliation with Heaven. I came to you a bravo—the emissary of the Marquis Strozzi; but when you touched my mutilated arm with your honored hand—when you trusted me because you believed me to be brave—I swore in my heart that you at least I would not betray. 'Tis true, I led you hither where Strozzi would have left you to die of hunger. Ah. my lord! you are not the first that has looked upon these cruel walls. Giuseppi, the gondolier whom the countess loved—he, too, poor youth. came hither- -and six days after I was sent for his corpse, and consigned it to the sullen waters of the lagoon, that covers the secrets of Strozzi's atrocious murders."

"But why, then, did you not warn me?"

"Because Strozzi would have murdered me, and employed another man to betray you into his hands. Or, if you had believed me, you might have remained in Venice, and you must, fly this very night—this very hour. Until you are safe, Strozzi must believe that you are his prisoner."

"Am I, then, forever doomed to turn my back upon this man?"

"My lord, my lord, no vain scruples! The Marchioness Bonaletta will die if you do not live to rescue her from his tyranny."

Eugene grasped his arm. "Ah, yes, indeed! Then come, Antonio—let us fly."

"My dear lord, one man only can leave this room. The porter is ready with his dagger if both should attempt to pass."

"You would remain here in my place! You would sacrifice your life to liberate me, Antonio!"

"The parricide would fain be at rest," replied Antonio, gently. "The sinner would gladly suffer death, that, expiating his crimes, he may hope to be forgiven by his Maker."

"Never will I purchase life at such a price," was the reply of the prince.

"My life is accursed," said Antonio; "my death will be triumphant. My lord, if you knew how I longed for death, you would not refuse me the blessing I covet. My Catherina ere this awaits me in the other world; I long to rejoin her—I long to obtain the pardon of my murdered father."

Eugene's face was buried in his hands, and he was weeping. "I cannot, I cannot," gasped he.

"You would drive your Laura to despair, then? You would go to your grave without renown?"

"No; I would live. Come: we can overpower the porter—if nothing less will save us, we can kill him."

"Before he dies he will call for help, and help will be near. But one of us can escape; and, by my eternal salvation, I swear that I will not be that one! Away with you! Away! In a moment it will he too late! Do you not hear me? Whether you go or stay, I never will leave this place again!"

Eugene staggered against the wall, and sighed heavily. Antonio knelt at his feet. At last he murmured almost inaudibly, "I will go."

Antonio sprang from his knees, threw his cloak around the prince, and, with eager, trembling hands, adjusted his mask.

"Thank God!" said he, "we are of the same size and build. There is not the least danger of recognition. The porter will suspect nothing. The pass word is, 'One of two.' The gondola is moored in the place where we left it, and your friends are at the landing, awaiting you now. The marchioness knows that you are to leave Venice to-night, God in heaven bless you. And now away!"

"Antonio," replied Eugene, greatly affected, "with my latest breath I will bless and thank you."

Then folding the bravo in his arms, he would have spoken his thanks again, but Antonio hurried him away, closed the door, and then fell upon his knees to pray.

The password was spoken, the door was opened, and Eugene was saved! He sprang into the gondola, and it flew across those sullen waters like an arrow. As he reached the landing, a well-known voice called out, "Eugene!"

"Max Emmanuel, I am here!" was the reply, and the friends were locked in each other's arms.

At length the elector spoke:—"I have confronted death," said he, "but never in my life have I passed an hour of such anguish as this. Come, Eugene, yonder lies the ship that is to bear us away from this sin-laden city. Step into my gondola, we have not a moment to lose."

They rowed to the ship's side; they mounted the ladder, and before the dawn of day Venice with her palaces and their secret prisons had disappeared, and the friends were far on their way to Trieste.



BOOK V

CHAPTER I

A TWOFOLD VICTORY

The winter of 1688 had gone by; the snows were melting from the bosom of reviving earth; and the trees that bordered the avenues of the Prater were bursting into life. At the court of Austria nobody welcomed spring; for its approach betokened the cessation of gayety, and the resumption of hostilities. The year 1687 had been rendered illustrious in the annals of Austrian history, by Charles of Lorraine, who, on the 12th of August, had gained a signal victory over the Turks. The rebellion in Hungary, if not suppressed, was smothered; for the weary and exhausted Magyars had been totally crushed by the iron heel of General Caraffa, and they had submitted to Austria. The conditions of the surrender were hard: they demanded the relinquishment of some of the dearest rights of the liberty- loving Hungarians. First, they were to renounce all right of resistance against the King of Hungary; second, they were no longer to elect their own sovereigns; the crown of Hungary was made hereditary in the house of the Emperors of Austria. The Archduke Joseph, then ten years of age, was crowned king; and the Hungarians were compelled to take the oath of allegiance to this irresponsible sovereign.

This being a decisive victory, the campaign ended early, and the season of festivity had therefore been a prolonged one. Not only the aristocracy of Vienna had celebrated the heroism of the victors by balls, concerts, and assemblies, but the emperor himself sometimes prevailed upon his retiring and devout empress to participate in the national gayety, by giving entertainments to her subjects at the imperial palace.

It was the festival of the Empress Eleanora, and the day was to be celebrated by the production of a new opera, entitled "Il Porno d'Oro." The rehearsals had been superintended by the emperor in person; he had suggested and directed the scenery and decorations, and, to the great scandal of his confessor, Father Bischof, Leopold had more than once curtailed his devotions, to attend these rehearsals.

On the day of the performance the emperor retired early to his dressing-room, and, to honor the festival of his consort, arrayed himself with imperial magnificence. His doublet was of cloth of gold, edged with fringe of the same; his cloak of purple velvet, richly embroidered, was fastened on the shoulder by an agraffe of superb diamonds. The breeches, reaching to the knee, were of velvet, like the cloak; and the hose, like the doublet, were of cloth of gold. The shoes of purple velvet were fastened with buckles of diamonds to correspond with the agraffe of the cloak. His ruff was of gold lace, his hat was decorated with a long white plume, and on his breast he wore the splendid order of the Golden Fleece.

When Leopold entered his music-room, Kircherus, who was there, awaiting him, could not repress an exclamation of wonder at the dazzling apparition.

"You are amazed at my magnificence," said the emperor, laughing.

"Your majesty, say rather that I am struck with admiration than with amazement. You are as glorious as the god of day; and if the Muses were to trip by, they would surely mistake you for their Phoebus, and, quitting Parnassus, make themselves at home in Vienna."

"And be driven away with contumely; for, being heathen maidens, Father Bischof would speedily exorcise and exile them back to Greece. And now tell me what you think of the new opera. Do you expect it to be successful?"

"Indeed I do, your majesty. It is, to my mind, heavenly."

"And to mine also. 'Tis the very music with which to lull the dying soul to rest. I have spared nothing to bring it out handsomely, and it has certainly been a golden apple to my purse, for it has already cost me thirty thousand ducats. But I tell you this in confidence, Kircherus: were my generals to hear of it, they would cry out that money is to be had for every thing except the army."

"I wish there were no army to swallow up your majesty's resources, and that we might be allowed to enjoy our music in peace," growled Kircherus.

"Hush, Kircherus; you are an artiste, and know nothing of the exigencies of political existence. I would I were such a heavenly idiot as you; but God has decreed otherwise. It is my duty to declare war or peace, as becomes the ruler of a great people; and so disinclined am I to strife, and so inclined to peaceful arts, that I sometimes think I have been purposely thwarted by God, and cast upon an epoch of perplexity and dissension, that my character might be invigorated by its exigencies. Even now I go reluctantly from art, to hold a council of war. I fear it is about to be anything but amicable; so, do your best to console me on my return, and see that all goes well as regards the opera."

The officers of the war department had been for more than half an hour awaiting the appearance of the emperor. One only was absent, the Duke of Lorraine, who had excused himself on a plea of indisposition.

"He is craftier than I had supposed," said the Margrave of Baden to his nephew. "He avoids the unpleasant responsibilities of debate, and shields himself behind the orders of the emperor."

"Because he awaits a reappointment to the chief command," replied Louis. "For him is the glory of our victories; for us the danger. But I have a missile to throw into the camp of the enemy; it is from Max Emmanuel, who votes with us."

"Ah, indeed!" said the margrave, with a satisfied air. "Then I think we may hope to thwart this insolent pretender, who considers me incapable of directing the war department of Austria."

"He has offered me a public affront," returned Louis, indignantly. "I had a right to command the Slavonian cavalry; and he bestowed it upon Dunewald, who is nothing but his creature. I have therefore followed the example of Max Emmanuel, and shall resign my commission to-day."

"I would give millions if, after your defection, he were defeated by the Turks. But he has the most unconscionable luck. And then, that silly Prince of Savoy, who blows such blasts in his praise. Louis, you ought not to be so intimate with Prince Eugene—he is one of our enemies."

"Oh no," replied Louis, smiling. "Eugene is the enemy of no man. Say nothing against HIM, uncle, if you love me. He is a youth of noble spirit, incapable of envy; recognizing every soldier's merit except his own. Our cousin of Savoy is destined to become a great man."

"He is already a great man," replied the margrave, with a sneer. "Not twenty-five years of age, and a knight of the Golden Fleece—a protege of the emperor, the favorite of Charles of Lorraine!"

At this moment the doors were opened, and Leopold, followed by a small, slender officer, entered the council-chamber.

"The Prince of Savoy!" muttered the margrave, impatiently.

"Eugene!" said Louis to himself, as, bowing his head with the rest, he wondered what could be the meaning of his cousin's presence.

"My lords," said the emperor, taking his seat, "I have invited Prince Eugene of Savoy to assist at this council—not only as a listener, but as one of us; and I shall call upon him to give his opinion as such, upon the matters that come under discussion to- day."

"Pardon me, your majesty, if, as president of this council, I remind you that the Prince of Savoy is too young and inexperienced for such a discussion, and that no man in active service, under the rank of a field-marshal, ever participates in the debates of the war department."

"Your highness is quite right, and I thank you for the reminder. We have no desire to infringe the etiquette of the council-chamber; and as we have invited the prince therein, we must repair our oversight by qualifying him to sit.—Prince of Savoy, we hereby create you field-marshal, and trust that, as such, you may win so many laurels that the world will pardon your youth in favor of your genius."

Eugene crimsoned to his temples, and kissed the hand which Leopold extended. "My liege," said he, in a voice choked with emotion, "your majesty heaps coals of fire on my head. May God give me grace to earn these unparalleled honors!"

"You have already earned them," replied Leopold, "and Austria is proud to have won such a hero to her cause.—And now, my lords, to business. President of the council, what is the condition of our army at present?"

"Your majesty, the army is not, as yet, armed and provisioned; but it will he in a condition to oppose the enemy as soon as the marshes of Hungary are sufficiently dry to allow of an advance."

"That means simply that nothing has been done," replied the emperor, in tones of dissatisfaction, "and that the winter has been spent in total inaction. It means also that this year as well as last our soldiers are to feel the want of the necessaries of life; and that for lack of money, munition, and stores, our most advantageous marches will have to be relinquished."

"I see that the Duke of Lorraine has already accused and calumniated me," said the margrave, sullenly.

"The Duke of Lorraine has at times complained of the want of munition, stores, and forage; but he neither calumniates nor accuses any one. He has remarked that, instead of being sustained by the war department, he has been hampered and harassed by its opposition to his plans. Even his officers have manifested a spirit of such insubordination, that they have seriously interfered with his successes."

"That means that he has complained of me," interposed Louis of Baden.

"Yes, margrave, it does; and we are both surprised that a hero of your recognized ability and renown should fail in a soldier's first duty—obedience to orders."

"Your majesty," exclaimed Louis, "I am no subordinate officer to receive or obey orders from another! I am an independent prince of the German empire, in every respect the equal of the Duke of Lorraine."

"Except as an officer in the Austrian army," replied Leopold, "in which character the Duke of Lorraine is your chief. You have not sufficiently considered this matter of your rank as an officer in my service; let me hope that, for the future, you will acknowledge and respect the authority of your commander-in-chief. I myself have found him ever ready to acknowledge and respect mine."

"The will of the emperor, to us, is law," said the Margrave Herman. "But your imperial majesty has hitherto exacted of your officers that they should receive your mandates through the medium of the minister of war. The Duke of Lorraine, who claims such strict obedience from others, has set at defiance the mandates issued from this council-chamber. As president of the same, I complain of the insubordination of your majesty's commander-in-chief. He has not carried out the orders received from the war department."

"He would have been more than mortal had he done so; for the war department has required of him feats that were physically impossible. We can trace out upon this green cloth before me any number of strategic movements, which, supposing the enemy to be of one mind with ourselves, would annihilate him beyond a doubt. But as he is apt to do the very reverse of what we would prescribe, the man upon whom rests the responsibility of confronting him, must use his reason, and modify orders according to circumstances. What is to be, you cannot include in your paper plans of attack; but the Duke of Lorraine has met every emergency as it presented itself on the field, and every true Austrian should be his friend."

"Your majesty," cried the margrave, greatly irritated, "the president of this council must nevertheless persist in his conviction that the highest court of military jurisdiction is here, and that the commander-in-chief of the army is its subordinate."

"You mistake the extent of its power," replied the emperor, with composure. "It is merely expected of the general-in-chief that he act in concert with the war department."

"Which the Duke of Lorraine has never done!" cried the margrave, impetuously.

"Perhaps the blame lay in the injudicious exactions of the minister of war," replied Leopold, carelessly; "and if, despite of all the obstacles that were placed in his way, he has subdued Hungary, you have no part in his glory, my lord; for in every case your judgment has been contrary to his."

"It follows, then, that I have not filled my office to the satisfaction of your majesty," said the margrave, choking with anger.

"I regret to say that I have less confidence in your judgment than in your ability, my lord; the former is unhappily often obscured by prejudice," replied Leopold, calmly.

"Your majesty," cried the margrave, "in this case I shall feel compelled—"

"I do not wish you to say or do any thing on compulsion, my lord; I prefer to assign you a position in which your talents, being unfettered by your antipathies, will shine with undimmed lustre. You have complained of late that the duties of the war department have become irksome to you; if so, I can give you an appointment less onerous to you, but equally important to the state. I am just now in need of an intelligent representative before the imperial Diet. This charge I commit to you, premising that you must start for your post immediately, that you may infuse some life into the stagnant councils of the ambassadors of the princes of Germany."

"Your majesty wishes to banish me from court?" asked the margrave, pale with anger.

"Certainly not, your highness," replied the emperor, gently. "I send you on an honorable embassy, and one whereat I need a capable and fearless advocate. The question to be decided before the imperial Diet is one of life or death to Austria, nay—to Germany. France is evidently preparing for war with the German empire. Her fortresses on the eastern frontier are all garrisoned; her troops are approaching; and under some pretext or other, they will cross our boundary lines. This being the case, the princes of the empire must cease their everlasting petty dissensions, and band themselves together for the defence of Germany. Be it your task to strengthen the bond of unity between them, and to convince them that in close alliance with Austria safety is to be found for all. I know of no man who can serve my interests at Regensburg as well as you, my lord; while, happily, I can find a substitute for your presidential chair at home, in Count von Starhemberg. And now, farewell; and let me hear from you as soon as possible."

The emperor extended his hand to the margrave, who, scarcely able to control his dissatisfaction, barely raised it to his lips, and hurried away.

"My lords," said the emperor, "let us proceed to business. The spring is nigh, and a new campaign is about to be planned. Count von Starhemberg, as president of this assembly, will be so good as to impart his views."

Count von Starhemberg bowed:—"Your majesty, it appears to me that our policy is to avoid a general engagement. The end of this campaign is the reduction of Belgrade, and great precaution must be used if we are to succeed. I would divide the army, so as to begin operations at three points simultaneously, and weaken the enemy, by scattering his forces. By detaching, we can easily defeat them, and capture their arsenals. This accomplished, we proceed to Belgrade, and, with the conquest of this Turkish stronghold, we end not only the campaign, but the war."

As Von Starhemberg concluded this harangue, the emperor addressed himself to Prince Louis of Baden.

"Your majesty," replied he, "I have no opinion to offer, for my views coincide altogether with those of Count von Starhemberg."

"And you, Count von Kinsky?"

"Your majesty, I sustain the president."

The same replies were forthcoming from Counts Liechtenstein and Puchta, and the emperor, having heard each one, relapsed into silence. After a pause, he spoke. "There reigns a remarkable unanimity of opinion here, among the councils of the war department," said he, with some emphasis. "Five members having but one mind as to the prosecution of the war! Not one variation from the plan of the president—not one suggestion—not even from so experienced and able a general as Louis of Baden! This is singular and surprising. We have yet to hear the youngest member of the council. Field-Marshal Prince of Savoy, speak without restraint, and fear not to express your own views."

"Pardon me, your majesty," said Eugene, blushing, "if I venture to dissent from the opinions expressed by those who are my seniors in years, and my superiors in experience. But it is the duty of a man, when called upon to speak, to speak honestly; and I should be untrue to my most earnest convictions, were I to give in my adherence to the plan proposed."

Amazement was depicted upon the faces of the assembled councillors; not only amazement, but disapprobation of Eugene's boldness. The emperor, however, looked kindly at the prince, and bade him proceed.

"With your majesty's permission, I am of the opinion that the entire army be concentrated in an attack upon Belgrade. To divide our forces will enfeeble them doubly; their numbers would be inconsiderable, and their command by one chief, impossible. Division is weakness—concentration is strength. Belgrade is our goal, and to Belgrade let us march at once. Let us possess the key of Turkey, and then we can make conditions with the Sultan."

"I honor your frankness, prince," replied the emperor. "I should respect it, were my opinion on the subject adverse to yours. But it is not. My lords, I regret that we are not all of one mind; but I must decide in favor of the campaign as proposed by Field-Marshal Eugene of Savoy. I cannot consent to have the army crippled by division; we must put forth all our strength, if we are to lay siege to Belgrade, and to this one end let our warlike preparations be directed."

"Your majesty's will is law," replied Count von Starhemberg. "It only remains for you to name the one to whom the chief command of the Austrian forces is to be intrusted."

"It is to be intrusted to him who has commanded it with such signal ability—to the Duke of Lorraine, my lord.—And now, gentlemen," added the emperor, rising, "the sitting is ended."

"Your majesty," interposed Louis of Baden, "I crave a few moments more."

The emperor gave consent, and the young prince came forward and spoke.

"Your majesty, the chief command of the army being given to the Duke of Lorraine, it follows that neither the Elector of Bavaria nor I have any independent position; we are to obey the orders of the Duke of Lorraine. This being the case, Max Emmanuel has commissioned me to announce with the utmost respect that it does not become a reigning prince to be the instrument of any other man's will. His subjects have already complained of the subordinate rank of their sovereign, and he cannot allow their sense of honor to be wounded by a renewal of such affront. He therefore tenders his resignation. He will withdraw the Bavarian troops, and take no part in your majesty's projected campaign against the Turks."

"We shall take time to consider the subject," replied Leopold, in a tone of unconcern, "and will speak with the elector in person. Have you anything else to say?"

"Yes, your majesty." said Louis. "I, also, consider it beneath my dignity to serve under a foreign prince, and I owe it to my own self-respect to act with the elector, and to tender my resignation."

The emperor looked searchingly at the troubled countenance of the margrave, who blushed beneath his gaze, and cast down his eyes.

"And you, too, would abandon your colors?" asked Leopold.

The eyes of the margrave flashed fire. "I false to my colors!" exclaimed he.

"You," repeated the emperor. "With your rank, as Margrave of Baden, I have nothing to do. You are an officer in my army, and have taken the oath of allegiance to me, as your lord and emperor. I ask you if you deem it honorable to desert your flag on the eve of a campaign? Do we not call such conduct by the name of cowardice?"

"Your majesty," cried Louis, vehemently, "I a—!"

"I do not speak of you," interrupted Leopold, calmly. "I ask you, if, at the moment of engaging the enemy, one of your ablest officers were to come to you with the proposition you have just made to me, by what word would you characterize the act?"

"Your majesty—I—I—" stammered the margrave.

"You cannot answer, my lord, but I will answer for you. You would say to such a man, 'He who deserts his post in the hour of danger is a coward.' But you, Margrave of Baden, are a man of honor, and therefore you will withhold your vaulting ambition. You will not strive with the destiny which makes Charles of Lorraine an older and more experienced, but not a braver man than you; but you will return to your duty, and emulate his greatness. Ambition is inseparable from valor; but it must be checked by reason, or it degenerates into envy. What would you think of a crown prince who should feel humiliated at his subordinate rank when compared with that of his father? When you entered my service, the Duke of Lorraine was already general-in-chief of the armies of Austria; and, as he has always led them to victory, it would be in the highest degree unjust to supersede him by another. He who would command, must first learn to obey. Margrave of Baden, I cannot accept your resignation."

"I will do my duty," replied Louis, bowing low before the emperor's reproof. "I submit myself to your majesty's decision, and remain."

"Say, rather," returned Leopold, smiling affectionately upon the young prince, "say rather that you go, for the campaign must open at once. Be diligent, Count von Starhemberg; inaugurate your preparations this very day; and you, Field-Marshal Prince of Savoy, hasten to Innspruck, to communicate to the Duke of Lorraine the result of our council of war."

"I thank your majesty," replied Eugene, "for this gracious command. May I be permitted to retire, and make my preparations to leave?"

The emperor bowed his head, and addressed the Margrave of Baden. "As there is no such urgency attending the movements of your highness, I will be happy to consider you as my guest, and shall expect the pleasure of your company at the opera.—You also, gentlemen," added he to the other members of the war department. "The empress is already in the theatre, awaiting our coming."

And with these words, the emperor, followed by his councillors, left the room. Without, the court was waiting to accompany him; and, when the lord-chamberlain had announced to the world that his majesty the emperor was about to visit the opera, the long, brilliant cortege set itself in motion.



CHAPTER II.

THE DUMB MUSIC.

The court entered the theatre. The emperor's suite took possession of the boxes on either side of the one appropriated to the imperial family, while Leopold, followed by Prince Eugene, whom he delighted to honor, entered the imperial box.

"I wish to present our new field-marshal to the empress," said he to his courtiers.

The empress was seated in one corner of the box, busily engaged with a piece of embroidery. She was so absorbed in the mysteries of silk and golden stitching, that she scarcely remarked the entrance of the court. For a moment her eyes met those of the emperor, to whom she bowed and smiled; then, bending her head again, she resumed her work.

The emperor took a seat by her, and watched her flying fingers with affectionate interest. "Your majesty is unusually industrious to- day," said he, smiling, and touching the embroidery.

"I was merely beguiling the hour of expectation which has passed away with your majesty's presence, by completing a flower on this altar-cloth, intended for the chapel of the blessed Eleanor, my namesake."

"The blessed Eleanor must excuse you to-day if I claim your presence here," replied the emperor. "And let me implore you for a while to fold those busy hands, and give your attention to the music which has been gotten up for your especial gratification."

The empress quietly folded her work, and rose from her tabouret.

"Allow me to present to your majesty the youngest field-marshal in the army," said Leopold, signing to Eugene to advance.

"I congratulate your highness," replied the empress, while Eugene knelt and kissed her hand. "Are you, indeed, so very young, prince?"

"No, your majesty," said he, sadly. "I am so old, that I wonder my hair is not gray."

"Indeed! How old are you, then?"

"Your majesty, I am forty-six years of age," replied Eugene.

"Why, how can you say such a thing," exclaimed Leopold, "when everybody knows you to be just twenty-three?"

"Your majesty, are not the years of active service reckoned by the soldier as double?"

"Yes, assuredly, my young field-marshal."

"Then, my liege, I am forty-six years of age, for my life has been one long war with troubles and trials."

The empress looked sympathizingly into the deep, sad eyes of the young prince, and saw that he spoke the truth.

"Have you then had many sorrows?" asked she, gently.

"Ay, your majesty; I have struggled and suffered since childhood, for I have ever been a soldier of misfortune."

"But you are no longer one," said Leopold, laying his hand upon Eugene's shoulder; "you have taken the oath of allegiance to Austria, and misfortune has now no claim upon you."

Eugene looked up, and the face of the emperor was beaming with kindness. "Whatever betide, my liege," returned he, "I am yours for life, and Austria is my land of adoption."

"I am glad to hear it; and now there is but one thing wanting to make you a subject after my own heart. You must marry an Austrian wife that shall make you as happy a husband as myself, and transform earth into heaven, as her majesty has done for me. It is in commemoration of my own happiness that I have chosen the opera of 'Il Porno d'Oro' to celebrate the empress's festival. 'Il Porno d'Oro'—that is, a happy union—the golden apple of paradise."

And the emperor, enchanted to have turned the conversation to a subject which was to him of supreme interest, offered his arm to the empress, and conducted her to the front of the box.

As soon as their majesties appeared, the spectators rose and cheered them enthusiastically. The imperial pair took their seats, and behind them stood Prince Eugene, the only other occupant of the box.

The emperor now waved his hand as a signal to the marshal of the household, who, raising his gilded staff, conveyed the imperial command to the leader of the orchestra. "His majesty is graciously pleased that the opera shall commence," cried the lord-chamberlain.

The leader bowed to the emperor, and took his place, which was conspicuously raised above that of the other musicians.

"His majesty is graciously pleased to allow all present to be seated," was the second cry of the emperor's mouth-piece. And now was heard a rustling of ladies' silks, and of cavaliers' velvets, and the grateful spectators took their seats, while the emperor, with a look of extreme satisfaction, opened the score of the Porno d'Oro, laid it on the ledge of the box, and began to hum the overture.

"Have you your text-book?" asked he of the empress. "I ordered one for your especial use; a synopsis of the opera, with the principal airs only. I hope that you received it. This one is too heavy for you."

The empress pointed to a purple-velvet book at her side, and slightly bowed her head.

Leopold nodded, much pleased, and then gave his attention to the stage.

The audience breathlessly awaited the opening. The leader flourished his baton. The violins raised their bows, the haut-boys and horns were clapped to the mouths of their respective performers, bass- viols were seized, harps were clutched, and drumsticks were raised in the air.

Nevertheless, not a sound was heard from the orchestra!

The emperor looked up from his score, and there, to be sure, was the leader, his baton going from left to right—there were the violins busy with their bows; the wind instruments were blowing for dear life; the harpists were tugging at their strings; the drumsticks were going with all their might—and not a sound! The musicians might just as well have been so many phantoms.

The emperor, in his bewilderment, turned to the empress, who was so profoundly engaged with her score, that she murmured the words thereof half aloud.

"Do you hear the music?" asked her husband.

She started a little, and, blushing deeply, looked very much confused. "Yes, yes," replied she, absently; "it is very fine."

"I must then have lost my hearing," said Leopold; "for I hear nothing." And a second time ho glanced at the orchestra, where the music was proceeding with the utmost energy.

"I cannot unriddle the mystery," thought the emperor, "for the empress hears the music and pronounces it fine. Prince Eugene," added he, aloud, "Do YOU hear any thing?"

"Not a sound, your majesty."

The emperor, looking very much relieved, beckoned to the lord- chamberlain, and sent him to inquire into the matter.

The audience, meanwhile, were quite as astounded as their sovereign. However, after a time they began to whisper and smile; and finally, as the drummer performed an extra flourish with his drumsticks, a voice was heard to cry out, "Bravo! bravo!"

This was the signal for a general burst of laughter, which the marshal of the household, though he shook his baton furiously, was impotent to quell. While the merriment was at its height the lord- chamberlain returned, and his countenance was expressive of extreme indignation.

Leopold, who for a moment had forgotten his Spanish formality, and had retired to the back of the box, advanced eagerly to meet him.

"What says the leader?" asked he, hastily.

"The leader, your majesty, is in despair, and is as much at a loss to account for the eccentricity of his orchestra as the audience themselves. He says that the last rehearsal was perfectly satisfactory."

"Go, then, to the musicians. See the first violin, Baron von Rietmann, and tell him that the overture must commence."

The lord-chamberlain went off on his mission, while Leopold, in undisguised impatience, stood at the door of his box waiting. The empress, apparently not cognizant of any thing around her, kept her eyes steadfastly riveted on her book. Prince Eugene had risen, and stood behind the emperor.

"What think you of this opera comique?" asked Leopold.

"It is past my comprehension, your majesty. I cannot conceive how they presume to—"

The emperor suddenly interrupted him. "I begin to apprehend the difficulty," said he, laughing. "My musicians are all of high rank, and, as noblemen and artistes, they have a twofold pride. They know perfectly well that I cannot do without them, and they occasionally take advantage of the fact to annoy me. They have some cause of complaint, I confess, and—Ah! What says Baron Rietmann?"

"My liege,"—replied the chamberlain, pale and breathless.

"Do not look so terrified," said Leopold; "what says the baron?"

"Your majesty, I am ashamed to be the bearer of his message," sighed the chamberlain. "He says their instruments will be dumb until the arrears due the orchestra for the last three months are paid!"

At this the emperor burst into an audible fit of laughter; then, remembering himself, he glanced anxiously at his impassible empress, to see if she had overheard him. No; she was perfectly unconscious of any thing but her book.

"Rietmann is a bold fellow," said Leopold at length, "but he is a great artiste, and I forgive his presumption. He is quite correct, however, as regards the orchestra. The imperial treasury has been drained for the army, and nothing remains for my musicians."

"Your majesty must order the army to refill the treasury at the expense of the enemy," said Eugene, with a smile. "It is said that the grand-vizier has immense treasures in Belgrade."

"Capture them all, field-marshal, for we are sorely in need of them. But let us try first to compromise with these musical rebels here.— Go, my lord-chamberlain, to Baron Rietmann, and say that the arrears due the orchestra shall be paid to-morrow, and thereunto I pledge my imperial word.—Now, Prince Eugene, let us resume our seats. I presume that my golden promises will restore the dumb to speech."

And so they did. Scarcely had the lord-chamberlain whispered the emperor's dulcet words into the baron's ear, before a signal passed between the musicians, and the overture began. [Footnote: This scene is historical.—See "Life and Deeds of Leopold the Great."]

The scenic effect of the opera was beautiful. The fountains were of real water, and graceful naiads disported within their marble basins; and there was lightning and thunder; there were transformations of men into animals, and finally, there was a golden apple which fructified into a bewitching fairy. She sang so delightfully that the emperor, in his enthusiasm, let fall his score, and applauded with all his might.

The fairy was encored, and as she was about to repeat her aria, the emperor turned to the empress and requested leave to be allowed the use of her text-book for a few minutes. In his eagerness he did not remark her exceeding confusion; but as, taking the book from her hands, he gave a glance at its pages, lie uttered an exclamation of surprise.

And no wonder! For, instead of an opera-score, he found a prayer- book!

"I hope your majesty will excuse me," stammered the empress. "In absence of mind, I brought my prayer-book instead of the score."

"And your majesty was praying for us," replied Leopold, half-vexed, half-amused. "But in our sinful way, we, too, are praying; for surely music such as this is both prayer and praise; and He who taught the nightingale her song, must surely rejoice to hear from human tongues the strains which He has revealed to inspired human genius!"



CHAPTER III.

THE RETIREMENT OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.

The imperial army, in five divisions, had marched to the Turkish frontier. They had traversed Transylvania, taking, on their way, the fortresses of Grosswardein, Sziget, and Canischa; and, farther on their victorious march, Peterwardein and Illock.

The Turks had pursued their usual mode of vengeful retreat, tracing their march with fire and blood, and, wheresoever they were forced to surrender, leaving to the victors naught but the smouldering ruins of the strongholds from which they had been driven.

The imperialists were eager to invest Belgrade; but their general- in-chief was ill; and for several days they had watched in vain to see the hangings of his tent drawn aside, and hear the welcome order to march.

Finally a courier arrived from Vienna, and it was rumored that instructions had been received to advance. The troops were all the more hopeful that, immediately after the dismissal of the courier, the Duke of Lorraine had sent a messenger to Field-Marshal the Prince of Savoy, requesting his presence at headquarters.

The prince obeyed the summons without delay, and, entering the tent, found the adjutant and the duke's physician, sitting together, discoursing mournfully to each other of the illness of the beloved commander.

"I fear," said the surgeon, "that his highness is attacked with nervous fever; his symptoms indicate it. He passed a restless night, and is suffering from intense headache. He must not be excited; he can therefore see nobody."

"But he has sent for me," objected Eugene.

The surgeon shook his head. "Your highness has heard my opinion, and, if you approach him, it must be on your own responsibility."

"I am a soldier," replied Eugene, smiling, "and must obey orders. I have been sent for by the general, and must at least be announced."

At this moment the hangings of the inner tent were drawn aside, and Martin, the duke's old valet, came forward.

"Am I wanted?" asked the surgeon.

"No, sir," replied Martin. "His excellency bade me see if the—Ah! There he is! Your highness, the duke begs your presence at once, and requests these gentlemen to leave the tent until his conference with your highness is at an end. He is very nervous, and the least rustling affects his head."

"Just as I feared," sighed the surgeon. "Martin, in one hour I shall return, to change the cold compress."

Eugene entered the sleeping apartment of the duke, and his pleasure at being admitted to see his commander, was changed into anxiety, when he beheld the pale, careworn face of the duke, and saw his head enveloped in bandages.

"Martin, have they left the tent?" inquired he, languidly.

"Yes, your highness; and I shall remain and keep watch that no one may enter."

"Do it, good Martin, for indeed I do not wish to be disturbed."

Martin disappeared, and the duke, removing his bandages, rose from the couch, and sank into an arm chair.

"We are alone, and I may as well dispense with all this; it is needless."

"Then, your highness, God be thanked, is not sick?" exclaimed Eugene.

"Yes, I am sick," replied the duke, sadly, "but not in the sense in which my physician supposes. A malady of the mind is not to be cured by compresses."

"Have you bad news?" asked Eugene, with tender sympathy.

"Ah, yes," sighed the duke. "Bad news for him who, loving his fatherland more than self, is withheld from willing sacrifice by the unworthy strivings of ambition with duty. But of that anon. I have sent for you to confer of the affairs of the Austrian army; for I know that I can count upon your sincerity, and trust to your discretion."

"Your highness knows how unspeakable is the love I bear you; you well know that it is the aim of my life to imitate, though I may never hope to rival, your greatness."

"I thank you for your honest affection, dear Eugene," replied the duke, looking fondly into the speaking face of his youthful worshipper. "I thank God that you are here, to complete what I am forced to leave unfinished."

"Your highness would forsake Austria!" cried Eugene, alarmed.

"Ask rather, my son, whether Austria has not forsaken me," was the mournful reply. "It is of this that I would speak with you. You are the only officer in the army that does not bear me ill-will; and to your sound and impartial judgment I am about to submit the question of my resignation."

"Resignation!"

"Yes; but first let us talk of the campaign which is before us. You know that its main object is the capture of Belgrade."

Eugene bowed assent.

The duke laid his finger on a topographical chart that lay on a table close by. "Here is the key which opens the door to Turkey. Unless we obtain this key, our past victories are all without significance, and for years we have been pouring out Christian blood in vain."

"But we shall take Belgrade," cried Eugene. "We have sixty-six thousand well-armed men, all eager for the fray."

"And the Turks have one hundred and fifty thousand."

"But they are not a consolidated army, and we must prevent them from uniting their forces."

"True; and for this end I have sent Prince Louis of Baden to Bosnia with six thousand men, that he may keep them busy at Gradiska. But the long march has exhausted his troops, and he has written to ask for re-enforcements. I must grant them; and to-morrow I send him four thousand men. How many does that leave us?"

"About fifty thousand, general."

"Suppose the enemy oppose fifty thousand to our ten, in Bosnia, there still remain to him twice as many as we can oppose to him."

"Yes; but they are not commanded by a Duke of Lorraine," exclaimed Eugene, with enthusiasm. "A great general outweighs the disparity of numbers."

A sad smile played about the duke's features. "I am not indispensable to Austria's success," said he. "My men will fight as bravely under another commander as they have done under me; but I do not say that I relinquish them to that other without a pang."

"Has such a question been raised?" asked Eugene, sadly.

"You are too close an observer not to have suspected it. Do you remember my telling you that I would be obliged to succumb to the hatred of my enemies?"

"Yes, your highness."

"I did not overrate their influence. Even those who hate each other forget their hatred, to persecute me. And yet I have never done them the least wrong. There is Prince Louis of Baden—I have shown him every mark of distinction in my power, and yet he hates me."

"Too true," sighed Eugene. "And I confess that since I have known it, I love him less."

"You are wrong. He is merely an echo of his uncle, who has some right to hate me, for to me he owes the loss of his place as president of the war department. He was not fit for the office, and I convinced the emperor of his incapacity. This, I allow, to be a ground of dislike. But there is another distinguished officer, too, that hates me. What have I done to Max Emmanuel?"

"You have not only given him every opportunity to gain renown, but often have I admired your magnanimity when he has conspicuously paraded his ill-will."

"I thank you for that avowal, Eugene; for well I know how unwillingly you blame the elector. And he deserves your friendship, for he loves you sincerely. He has a noble heart, although I have not been able to win it; he is a fearless hero, and a great military chieftain. It is a pity that we were contemporaries. Were I to die to-day, no man would be louder in my praise than he; but I live, and he cannot brook a rival."

"Nay, your highness, he is not so presuming as to suppose that he is worthy to supplant you."

"He is about to supplant me, Eugene. I forgive him; for he is young, ambitious, and conscious of his own genius, which, while I enjoy the chief command, is hampered by a subordinate position. He is just as capable as myself; but I do not feel that he is my superior, and therefore it pains me to be obliged to resign my command to him."

"You do not think of such a thing! What would be the effect of your retirement upon the troops?"

"They would cry out, as the Frenchmen do, 'Le roi est mort, vive le roi!' I am not self-deceived as to the ephemeral nature of military popularity. It is always directed toward an object present and tangible, and speedily consoles itself for the loss of one idol by replacing it with another. But now, listen to me. A courier has just arrived from Vienna. The president of the war department declares himself unable to put any more troops in the field; he has neither money nor munition more. The emperor writes under his own hand that he has several times called upon the Elector of Bavaria to join his command, and place himself at the head of his Bavarians."

"And he has refused!" cried Eugene.

"No. He has accepted, but conditionally only. Can you guess his conditions?"

Eugene turned pale and stammered: "Your highness, I cannot—I hope that I do not—"

"Well, I see that you have guessed. He demands the chief command of the entire army."

"But if the emperor, as a matter of course, refuses this unreasonable and presumptuous demand?"

"Then he withdraws his troops. Peace—peace! I know that you love the elector: let us not discuss his acts, but consider their bearings upon the welfare of Austria. For months the emperor has been trying to arrange matters, but all in vain. Count Strattmann, the last envoy, who had a long personal interview with Max, says that he will not retreat from his exactions. He assumes the chief command, or his troops are this day ordered to Bavaria."

"The emperor will never yield. He ought not to yield."

"The decision of this difficulty has been left with me. Max is close at hand, in Essek, awaiting my determination. And now, Eugene, what answer shall I send him?"

"There is but one. The Austrian army cannot spare the Duke of Lorraine."

"But still less can it spare the Bavarian troops. How many men did you say that we counted in all?"

"Fifty thousand, your highness."

"And of these, how many are from Bavaria?"

"Eight thousand infantry," said Eugene, with a sigh.

"And four thousand cavalry. In all, twelve thousand; and let us do him justice: the troops of the elector are an admirably disciplined and efficient body of men. Now, if we lose this number, our forces are reduced to thirty-eight thousand. Can we confront a hundred thousand Turks with such a handful?"

Eugene spoke not a word. His face was bent over the chart, but it was easy to see that he was powerfully agitated. After a long silence, the duke pointed with his finger to the spot on the map which the prince had apparently been examining.

"This tear is my answer," said he. "We cannot spare the Bavarians."

"Too true," murmured Eugene, "too true."

"Then the general must sacrifice his ambition to the national welfare; he must retire from his command."

"Oh, no! Not yet. Let ME go to the elector. We are intimate friends, and I will persuade him to retract his unrighteous exactions."

"You will not succeed. Moreover, I would not accept the sacrifice. Could we have done without his troops, I would joyfully have retained my command; but we have no right to ask of Max Emmanuel, who cannot be spared, to yield to me, who can be spared. I repeat it, then: I accept no sacrifice from the elector, nor will I be outdone by any man in magnanimity. The wound smarts, I am not ashamed to confess it; but my duty is too clear before me for hesitation; and in its fulfilment I have great consolation. To you, dear Eugene, this hour will afford a valuable lesson."

"Ay, indeed," replied Eugene. "It will teach me high resolve and holy resignation. If I ever should be tempted to envy the greatness of a rival, I will remember the day on which my friend's mad ambition deprived an army of its great and renowned commander."

"You are not apt to have rivals, Eugene, for you will surpass all your contemporaries in military genius. As for me, I retire, but I shall probably find other opportunities of using my sword for Austria. If—as God grant!—we should be victorious again this year, the King of France will show his teeth, and perhaps the laurels I have lost on the Save I may recover on the Rhine. And now, son of my heart, farewell! God be with you, now and evermore!"

He embraced Eugene with affection, and, returning to the table, rang for Martin. The old man answered the summons, whereupon the duke began at once to give orders for his departure.

"Say to the surgeon that my head is worse, and that I crave his attendance. Then see the imperial couriers, and send them hither."

"The surgeon is here," said that individual, coming forward. "But what do I see? Your highness has risen?"

"Yes, doctor, for I am too ill to remain in camp any longer, and we must start to-day for Innspruck, where you will find me an altered man, and the most submissive of patients."

"Thank Heaven!" replied the surgeon, "for your highness needs rest."

"I will take as much as is needful," said the duke. "And now," added he to Eugene, "will you do me a last favor?"

"What can I do for your highness?"

"Seat yourself at my escritoire, and write what I shall dictate."

Eugene took up his pen and wrote:

"INSTRUCTIONS FOR MY OFFICERS:"

"My health being too weak to allow of my remaining any longer in active service, I am compelled to resign the command of the imperial armies to another. My successor, his highness the Elector of Bavaria, is at Essek, and will he with the army in a few hours. Until his arrival, I appoint Field-Marshal Count Caprara my representative. God protect the emperor and his brave army!"

"Thank you, prince," added the duke. "Now be so good as to reach me your pen, that I may sign my name."

When his signature had been appended to this short proclamation, the duke, sighing heavily, said, "Eugene, do you know what I have just signed? My death-warrant!"

"Oh, my general!"

"Hush! Here come the couriers."

The duke bade them welcome, adding, "Did his imperial majesty charge you with any letter subject to my order?"

"Yes, your highness. We have one to the Elector of Bavaria, which, according as your highness commanded, was to be delivered to the elector, or returned to his majesty."

"Hasten to Essek, and deliver it to the elector.—And you, baron," said he, addressing the other courier, "return to Vienna, and say to the emperor that, as you were leaving the camp, I was departing for Innspruck; and, that you may be able to speak the truth literally, you shall see me go. If I mistake not, Martin is coming to say that my travelling-carriage awaits me."

"Yes, your highness, we wait for nothing but your commands."

"Then let us depart. Doctor, you will bear me company as far as Innspruck, will you not? Give me your arm, Prince Eugene."

With these words, he put his arm around the prince's neck, and, supporting himself on that slender frame, the duke, who was a man of tall stature, left his tent, and walked slowly to the carriage.

Behind him, in solemn silence, came the physician and the two couriers. At the door of the chariot he let his arm glide away from Eugene's neck, gave him one last fond look, one last friendly pressure, and then was gone!

The prince followed him with his eyes, until the chariot had disappeared from view. Then, sad and solitary, he returned to his own tent.

"And thus I am doomed to lose all that I love!" was his bitter reflection. "The Duke of Lorraine—Laura!—Oh, my Laura, how light to me were other losses, wert thou but here to smile me to forgetfulness!"

And, with his head bowed down between his hands, Eugene forgot all time, to dream of his love. For several hours he sat thus—his spirit all unconscious of the day, the hour, the place—when suddenly he was aroused from his reverie by a familiar voice.

"Eugene," cried Max Emmanuel, "where are you? The whole army is shouting me a welcome, and my friend has no greeting for me! He waits until I force myself into his tent to claim his congratulations!"

"I was not aware that your highness had arrived. I—I—"

"And is this my welcome!" cried the elector, disappointed. "Are you displeased with me for superseding your master and hero?"

"Yes, proud, ambitious Max, I am grieved; for you are right, he was my master and my hero."

"Proud, ambitious, am I? Yes, I acknowledge it, and acknowledge it without shame. The day for hero-worship has passed away, and that of heroic action has dawned for both of us. Forgive me if I have usurped the place of your demi-god; and, in his stead, accept your friend and companion-in-arms. Think of the pledge we made before Buda, and refuse me not the advantage of your support. Without you. I cannot capture Belgrade; with you, I feel that I am invincible. Will you not sustain me?"

"I will, dear Max, and, sorely though you have grieved me, I bid you welcome."



CHAPTER IV.

THE FALL OF BELGRADE.

Two months had passed away since Max Emmanuel assumed command of the imperial army. During this time the besiegers had dug trenches and thrown up embankments; had demolished fortifications, and thrown bridges across the Save, with a view to attacking the Turks both in front and rear. The latter had been obliged to look on while all this had been progressing, impotent, in spite of their valor, to stop proceedings. Of course they had thrown bombs and sprung mines under the feet of their enemies, but nothing dismayed the Austrians, and finally they were prepared to assault the city.

The duke had twice called upon Achmed Pacha to surrender. The first summons, sent by a Turkish prisoner, was laconically answered by the gibbeting of the unfortunate messenger within sight of the Austrian camp. To the second, Achmed Pasha replied by a thousand greetings to the brave Duke of Lorraine; adding that the siege would terminate as it pleased God.

"And we are here to carry out His will," observed the duke, laughing. "The miners must cease their work neither day nor night; they may be relieved, but must not stop. Tell them that if they work me a passage to the fortress by the 16th of September, I will give to each one of them from this day forward a gratuity of two ducats a day."

On the 15th of September the Turkish commander was a third time summoned to surrender. This last summons was treated with contemptuous silence. It had been delivered to Achmed Pacha, while, accompanied by his Janizaries, he was on his way to the mosque. When he had finished its perusal he addressed two of his officers that were walking on either side of him.

"What answer would you advise me to make to the Christian commander- in-chief?" asked he of the first. "In the name of Allah and the Prophet, I call upon you to speak according to your convictions."

The two Janizaries exchanged glances of uneasiness; but Achmed Pacha's stern, handsome face was inscrutable in its composure.

"We are sorely pressed," replied the officer, mustering courage to speak. "Unless Allah work a miracle in our favor, we must succumb; it seems to me, therefore, that a useless defence will but exasperate the enemy."

Achmed Pacha turned to the other. "And you?" said he, mildly.

"Most illustrious leader of the armies of the faithful," said the second officer, quite reassured as to consequences, "if you insist upon hearing the candid opinion of the least of your servants, I must venture to say that our garrison is exhausted and spiritless. Allah has forsaken us, and it were better to stop further effusion of blood by an honorable surrender."

Achmed's eyes now darted fire, and the angry blood rushed to his pale brow. He signed to a third officer to advance.

"You have heard these traitors," said he in a loud, distinct voice. "Off with their cowardly heads, and bear them through the city on pikes, while a herald shall come after you, crying out to all who choose to profit by the warning, 'Such is the fate of the traitors that counsel submission to the Christian!'"

The officers were thrown to the ground, and, in a few moments, their headless trunks lay stretched on the earth, while their heads were borne aloft through the streets of Belgrade.

"Justice is satisfied," said Achmed Pacha, solemnly; "now let us betake ourselves to prayer. Let us thank Allah, who has turned away the perils by which we were threatened, and is preparing for the faithful a great triumph over their unbelieving foe. The grand- vizier is at hand with re-enforcements, and ere long the Christians will be put to ignominious flight."

This declaration of the general soon made its way to every house in the city, and caused universal joy. The soldiers crowded around their chief and swore to defend Belgrade until the grand-vizier arrived.

"And the Sultan will reward you all," said Achmed. "The booty will be left to the soldiery, and the commander of the faithful will pour out the treasures of his generosity from the horn of his beneficence. The defenders of Belgrade will be the nearest to his throne and his heart, and to your children shall descend the honors he will confer! Now come and let us praise Allah for the glory you are about to win!"

And with this flourish of promises, Achmed Pacha entered the mosque. Once there, he fell upon his knees, and prayed after the following fashion—:

"Allah, forgive me the lies which I have just uttered before the gates of Thy holy temple. Allah, make true my words: send hither, I implore Thee, the help I have ventured to promise to my unhappy garrison; for the two unfortunates whom I have just executed were the speakers of truth; if a miracle is not vouchsafed to us, we are lost."

In the Christian camp Max Emmanuel was making ready to storm the city; and his troops, with beating hearts, were eagerly awaiting the signal to begin the assault.

"You are really going to commence your attack?" asked the Duke of Mantua of the elector.

"Not only to commence, but to finish it," was the reply. "Before the sun sets, Belgrade must be ours."

"Very flue and sententious," replied the duke, with a shrug, "but, unfortunately, impracticable."

"Well—nobody can deny that your highness is a FAR-SEEING warrior," said Max, laughing, and remembering Mohacz. [Footnote: The Duke of Mantua had promised to come to the assistance of the emperor. In 1637 he visited the imperial camp, where he was received with every mark of consideration. On the morning of the battle of Mohacz, as the troops were about to make the attack, he came up to General Caprara, and in the coolest manner asked from what point he could best observe the fight. The general replied, "Your highness must join the staff of the commander-in-chief if you wish to look on without being mixed up in the general engagement."—"But the staff are in constant danger, as well as the rest," was his answer, "and I might be struck by a ball or a bomb-shell."—"Oh!" cried Caprara, "you wish to look on without endangering your life! Then go upto the top of yonder mountain." The duke went, and remained there until the battle was ended.] "You have an eagle-glance for a field of battle, and I propose to renew for you to-day the spectacle which last year you enjoyed looking on, while the rest of us were fighting."

"Think you that Belgrade is a bee-hive, and that the Turks are to be smoked therefrom, like a swarm of bees?"

"I think that Belgrade is peopled by Turks, not bees; and yet I shall smoke them out of it this very day. Will you bet me five thousand ducats that I do not?"

"Yes, I take the bet; and although five thousand ducats is a considerable sum, I sincerely hope I may lose it. I shall make, haste to return to my villa, whence I can look on the assault, while I pray for the success of your arms."

"We shall have unspeakable comfort in the thought," cried the elector, galloping off to join his staff.

"A pious Moses that," said he to Prince Eugene. "I am really glad that he has again taken his leave. I lose all my pride of manhood when I look upon such a poltroon, and think that we are of the same species."

"He is a natural curiosity," said Eugene, "a mere exception to his race. I rather enjoy the contemplation of such a sporadic case of cowardice."

The attack was to begin at five points simultaneously. When the fifth courier had reported his division to be in readiness, the elector, giving orders to his staff which dispersed them for a while, turned to Eugene and began in a low voice:

"Eugene, I feel like a lover who has just become a husband. My heart beats with anticipation of bliss, and is all aflame with desire."

"I should think you had clasped Bellona to your heart so often, that you would have learned to accept her favors without excitement or anxiety," returned Eugene, playfully.

Max glanced at the calm and self-possessed prince, and replied: "You shall teach me self-control, dear Eugene, for you have wonderful mastery over your emotions. Did I not know what a warm heart is throbbing under that composed demeanor, I should imagine Prince Eugene to be a mere compound of wisdom and self-possession; and yet I know that, at this very moment, that heart is burning with love for one who, in the hour of battle, is dearer to him than ever. Eugene, this is a moment of solemnity enough for me to ask you whether Laura lives?"

"I do not know," murmured he, nervously grasping his reins, and becoming very pale. "I have no news, and yet, if she were dead, my heart would tell me so; I believe, then, that she is alive, and, should I fall to-day, there hangs a medal lion around my neck (her dear portrait), which must be sent to her. Say that I died loving her beyond all power of speech to convey; that for her love, I bless and thank her, trusting that she will forgive me for having been the cause of all her misfortunes. I am grateful to you, Max, for having spoken of her to me. If I die, this is my last will."