A Conspiracy of the Carbonari | Page 9

de Simonie was conspicuous as a brilliant and unusual person.
She was young, lovely, endowed with rare intellectual gifts, understood
how to do the honors of her drawing-room with the most subtle tact,
and was better suited than any one to act as mediator between the
Viennese and the French, since she herself belonged to both nations. A
German by birth, she had married a Frenchman, lived several years in
Paris with her husband, one of the richest bankers in the capital, and
now, being widowed, had come to Vienna in order, as she said, to
divert the minds of her countrymen from the great grief which the 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 _entrée_ 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