“He shall not continue to wear our cloth; that you may certainly rely on, Monsieur l'Abbé,” said the Archduke, sternly.
“In any case, wait for his sister's departure, sir,” said D'Esmonde, anxiously; “a few days or hours. As soon as this silly old lady has made up that budget of gossip and scandal she fancies to be political news, we 'll see her leave this, and then he can be dealt with as you think proper.”
The Archduke made no reply,—not seeming either to assent to or reject the counsel. “It would break the old Marshal's heart,” said he, at last; “that gallant old soldier would never survive it.”
“A treason might, indeed, kill him,” said D'Esmonde. “But your Highness will anticipate exposure by dismissal—dismissal, peremptory and unexplained.”
Again the Archduke was silent, but his lowering brow and dark expression told that the subject was giving him deep and serious thought. “I paid no attention to your conversation this evening, Abbé,” said be, at last; “but it struck me, from a chance word here and there, that you suspect these same 'Liberal' notions are gaining ground.”
“Heresies against the Faith, sir, have begotten their natural offspring, heresies against the State; and Governments do not yet awaken to the fact that they who scorn the altar will not respect the throne. The whole force of what are called Liberal institutions has been to weaken the influence of the clergy; and yet it is precisely on that same influence you will have to fall back. It is beneath the solemn shadow of the Church you'll seek your refuge yet!”
“No, no, father,” said the Archduke, with a laugh; “we have another remedy.”
“The mitre is stronger than the mitraille, after all,” said D'Esmonde, boldly. “Believe me, sir, that the solemn knell that tolls an excommunication will strike more terror through Christendom than all your artillery.”
Either the remark or the tone in which it was uttered was unpleasing to the Prince; indeed, all the Abbe's courtesy at times gave way to an almost impetuous boldness, which royalty never brooks, for he turned away haughtily, and joined the others at a distant part of the room.
There was something of scorn in the proud look which D'Esmonde gave after him, and then slipped from the chamber with noiseless step and disappeared. Inquiring the way to the Princess's apartment, the Abbé slowly ascended the stairs, pondering deeply as he went. Nina was passing the corridor at the moment, and, supposing that he had mistaken the direction, politely asked if she could offer him any guidance. Scarcely noticing the questioner, he replied,——