A Conspiracy of the Carbonari | Page 9

loss of their beloved capital caused them.
Beautiful Leonore de Simonie certainly appeared to be thoroughly in earnest in her purpose to divert their minds from their great grief. Every evening her drawing-rooms were thrown open for the reception of guests; every evening all the generals, French courtiers, and people who belonged to good society in France were present; every evening more and more Germans and Viennese went to Madame de Simonie's, until it seemed as if she afforded Viennese and Parisian society a place of meeting where, forgetting mutual aversion and hatred, they associated in love and harmony.
To be a visitor at Madame de Simonie's therefore soon became a synonym of aristocracy in the new fashionable society of Vienna, which was composed of so many different elements. The foreigners who had come to the Austrian capital, attracted by the renown of the French emperor, or led by selfishness, strove with special earnestness to obtain the _entr��e_ to Madame de Simonie's drawing-room, for there they were sure of meeting those whose acquaintance was profitable; by whose meditation they might hope to obtain access to the presence of the French emperor.
The day before Baroness Leonore had given a brilliant entertainment. Until a late hour of the night all the windows of the story which she occupied in one of the palaces on the Graben were brightly lighted; the curious, characterless poor people had gathered in the street to watch the carriages roll up and away, and gaze at the windows whence the candles blazing in the chandeliers shone down upon them, and behind whose panes they saw in swift alternation so many gold-embroidered uniforms, so many showy ball dresses.
As has been said, it was a brilliant entertainment and the Baroness de Simonie might well be content with it; for though the hostess she had also been its queen. Every one, French as well as Austrians, Russians and Italians, Hungarians and Poles, had offered her enthusiastic homage; had expressed in glowing encomiums their greatful thanks for the magnificent festival she had given.
She had been radiant, too, in grace and beauty yesterday evening. The gayest jests were throned upon her scarlet lips, the proudest light had sparkled in her large black eyes, the most radiant roses of youth had bloomed on her delicate cheeks, and the long black tresses which, with wonderful luxuriance, encircled her high white brow, had been to many the Armida nets in which their hearts were prisoned.
But to-day, on the morning after this festival, all that was left of the brilliant queen of the ball was a pale, exhausted young woman, who lay on the divan with a sorrowful expression in her eyes, while ever and anon deep sighs of pain escaped from her breast.
She was in her boudoir, whose equipments displayed French luxury and taste. Everything about her bore the appearance of wealth, happiness, and pleasure, yet her face was sad--yet Leonore de Simonie sighed--yet her lips sometimes murmured words of lamentation, satiety, even bitter suffering. But suddenly a ray of delight flitted over her face; a happy smile brightened her pale features; and this was when, among the many letters the servant had just brought to her, she discovered the little note which she had just read and then, with passionate impetuosity, pressed to her lips.
"He will come, oh, he will come; he will be with me in an hour!" she whispered, again glancing over the note with beaming, happy eyes, and then thrusting it into her bosom.
"This is mine," she said softly; "my property; no one shall dispute it with me, and--"
A tremor ran through every limb, a burning blush crimsoned her cheeks, then yielded to a deep pallor--she had heard steps approaching in the drawing-room outside, recognized the voice which called her name.
"He is coming!" she murmured. "It is he! My executioner is approaching to begin the tortures of the rack afresh."
At that moment the door which led into the apartment really did open, and a little gentleman, daintily and fashionably attired, entered.
"May I venture to pay my respects to Baroness de Simonie?" he asked, pausing at the door and bowing low, with a smiling face.
Leonore did not answer. She lay motionless on the divan, her beautiful figure outstretched at full length, her face calm and indifferent, her large eyes uplifted with a dreamy expression to the ceiling.
"Madame la Baronne does not seem to have heard me," said the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders. "I ventured to ask the question whether I could pay my respects to you."
Still she did not move, did not turn her eyes toward him, but said in a loud, distinct voice: "You see. We are alone! What is the use of playing this farce?"
"Well," he cried, laughing, "your answer shows that we are really alone and need no mask. Good-day, then, Leonore,