“I told you already, general,” said Count Cobenzl, with his most winning smile, “we cannot accept the last condition. We must have Mantua, likewise; in return, we give you Mentz; and not the Adige, but the Adda, must be our frontier.”
“Ah! I see—new difficulties, new subterfuges!” exclaimed Bonaparte, and his eyes darted a flash of anger at the diplomatist.
This angry glance, however, was parried by the polite smile of the count. “I took the liberty of informing you likewise of OUR ultimatum, general,” he said, gently, “and I am sorry to be compelled to declare that I shall have to leave this place unless our terms be acceded to. But in that case, I shall hold YOU responsible for the blood of the thousands which may be shed in consequence.”
Bonaparte jumped up, with flaming eyes, and lips quivering with rage.
“You dare to threaten me!” he shouted, angrily. “You resort to subterfuge after subterfuge. Then you are determined to have war? Very well, you shall have it.”
He extended his arm hastily and seized the precious cup which the Empress Catharine had given to Count Cobenzl, and, with an impetuous motion, hurled it to the ground, where it broke to pieces with a loud crash.
“See there!” he shouted in a thundering voice. “Your Austrian monarchy shall be shattered like this cup within less than three months. I promise you that.”
Without deigning to cast another glance upon the two gentlemen, he hurried with rapid steps to the door, and left the room.
Pale with anger and dismay, Count Cobenzl stared at the debris of the precious cup, which so long had been the pride and joy of his heart.
“He is leaving,” muttered the Marquis de Gallo. “Shall we let him go, count?”