Part 59 (1/2)
”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 a.r.s.enal, 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 pa.s.sion 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.'”
”G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 archd.u.c.h.ess 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 sh.e.l.l 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.