“Your highness,” she said, “if we lived still in the days of the ancient gods, I would not trust any butterfly nor any bird, nay, not even a gold-piece, for, behind every thing, I should suspect Jove disguised, for the purpose of surprising my beautiful mistress.”
Marianne laughed. “Ah, how learned you are,” she said. “You refer even to the disguised bull of poor Europa and to the golden rain of Danae. But fear not; no disguised god will penetrate into my rooms, for unhappily the time of gods and demi-gods is past.”
“Nevertheless, those arrogant French would like to make the world believe that M. Bonaparte had restored that time,” said Madame Camilla, with a contemptuous air; “they would like to persuade us that the son of that Corsican lawyer was a last and belated son of Jove.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Marianne, triumphantly; “the world shall discover soon enough that he is nothing but a miserable son of earth, and that his immortality, too, will find sufficient room between six blackboards. I know, Camilla, you hate the usurper as ardently, as bitterly and vindictively as I do, and this hatred is the sympathetic link uniting me with you. Well, let me tell you that your hatred will speedily be gratified, and that your vindictiveness will be satiated. Pray to God, Camilla, that He may bless the hand about to be raised against the tyrant; pray to God that He may sharpen the dagger which may soon be aimed at his heart! The world has suffered enough; it is time that it should find an avenger of its wrongs!”
“Major von Brandt,” announced a footman, entering the room.
“Conduct the major to the drawing-room,” said Marianne, hastily; “I will join him directly.”
She cast a last triumphant look on the mirror, and then left the room.
Madame Camilla watched her, with a scowl, until the door had closed behind her. “Now I know whom I have to inform of her doings,” she muttered. “They concern the French governor; I have to take pains, however, to find out more about her schemes, so that my report may embrace as much important information as possible. The better the news, the better the pay.”
Marianne had meanwhile gone to the drawing-room. A tall, elderly officer, in Austrian uniform, with the epaulets of a major, came to meet her, and bent down to kiss reverentially the hand which she offered to him.
Marianne saluted him with a fascinating smile. “You have entirely forgotten me, then, major?” she asked. “It was necessary for me to invite you in order to induce you to pay me a visit?”