Prince Eugene | Page 9

HE would go
so far in his enmity to the niece of the great cardinal, the relative of the
reigning Duke of Savoy, and the daughter-in-law of the Princess
Carignan.
So she summoned resolution enough to cross the room, draw back the
bolt, and to say in a loud, imperious tone: "Come in."
The door opened, and admitted a young man. The countess no sooner
recognized him than she smiled, and, with a slight elevation of her

shoulders, said, "Nobody but you."
"Nobody but me," replied the youth, sadly. "I come to ask of my
gracious mother an interview."
CHAPTER III.
PRINCE EUGENE.
The countess inclined her head in token of assent; but, as she did so,
her eyes rested on the diminutive form of her son with an expression
that savored of disdain. The look was unmotherly, and seemed to say,
"How can a man of such insignificant appearance be the son of the
stately Countess de Soissons?"
And indeed to a careless observer the words were not inappropriate to
his dwarfish proportions. His head, which, between his excessively
wide shoulders, was perched upon the top of a very long neck, was too
large, much too large for his body. His face was narrow, his
complexion swarthy, his sallow cheeks high and sunken. A nose
slightly turned up, gave an expression of boldness to his countenance,
increased by the shortness of his upper lip, which exposed to view two
large front teeth that were almost ferocious in their size. On either side
of his high, narrow forehead, his hair, instead of being worn according
to the prevailing fashion, was suffered to fall in long elf-locks about his
ears. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, his eyes were so
superlatively beautiful that they almost persuaded you into the belief
that he was handsome. From their lustrous depths there streamed a
meteoric splendor, which, more than words, revealed the genius, the
enthusiasm, and the noble soul to which Nature had assigned such
unworthy corporality.
Those speaking eyes were fixed upon the countess in tender sadness,
while, in a respectful attitude near the door, he awaited her permission
to approach.
She languidly extended her hand, and, Eugene coming forward, bent
over and imprinted upon it a heartfelt kiss.

"My dear mother then consents?" said he, humbly.
"I know of no reason why I should refuse," replied the countess,
carelessly. "Neither am I able to divine wherefore you make your
request in a tone of such unusual solemnity. One would suppose that
the little abbe has come to invite his mother to a confession of her sins,
so portentous is his demeanor."
"Would I could receive that confession," exclaimed he, earnestly;
"would I could look into my mother's heart and read the secrets there!"
"Indeed! and have you come hither to catechise your mother, then?"
said the countess, with a frown.
"No, dear mother, no," cried Eugene, eagerly; "I have come to ask of
you whether I may walk with head erect before the world, or whether I
must die because of our dishonor?"
"An extraordinary alternative to present for my decision, certainly; and
I confess that I am very curious to learn how it happens that I can assist
you in your dilemma. Speak, then, and I will listen."
With these words the countess threw herself indolently into an arm-
chair, and motioned Eugene to a seat. But he only advanced a step or
two, and gazed wistfully upon her handsome, hardened face.
"Mother," said he, in a low, husky voice, "the soothsayer La Voisin has
been arrested."
"Ah! what else?" asked the countess, with perfect composure.
"Her house is guarded, every corner has been searched, and her papers
have all been seized."
"And what else?" repeated the countess.
Her son looked up, and a ray of hope shot athwart his pale and anxious
face. "Nothing is talked of in Paris," continued he, "but the strange
revelations connected with her arrest. It is said that she not only drew

the horoscope of those who were accustomed to visit her, and gave
them philters, but--but--"
"But," echoed the countess as her son paused.
"But that she prepared secret poisons, one of which, called 'La poudre
de succession,' was specially designed for the use of those who wished
to remove an inconvenient relative."
This time the countess was silent; her brow contracted, and she
shivered perceptibly.
An involuntary cry burst from the lips of her son, which recalled her to
a sense of her imprudence.
"What ails you?" asked she, abruptly. "Have you seen a ghost, that you
cry out in a voice so unearthly?"
"Yes, mother, I have seen a ghost--the ghost of my father! "And while
the countess grew pale, and her eyes dilated with fear, her unhappy son
sank upon his knees before her, and clasped