"Of Prince Eugene," murmured Laura, blushing.
"Prince Eugene!" echoed the duchess.
"Yes," exclaimed she, passionately, "of him, the noble, brave knight, who, like another St. George, sets his foot upon the dragon of this world's wickedness, and towers above its miserable worshippers, like an archangel!"
"Great Heavens! what has possessed the girl?" exclaimed the duchess. "She speaks of that little abbe as if he were an impersonation of manly beauty!"
"And so he is! His eyes are aflame with the light of a noble soul, and his face is as that of a demi-god!"
"A demi-god!" cried madame, clasping her hands. "I do believe she has fallen in love with him!"
Laura buried her face in the folds of the duchess's dress. "Pray for me, dear lady," sobbed she; "pray for me. Never would my father consent to bestow my hand upon the son of the Countess de Soissons, and I!—oh, if I should love him, I would forsake the whole world for his sake. Alas! alas! I believe that he is lord and sovereign of my heart, for it bounds to meet his, as though it felt that he was master of its destiny!"
CHAPTER VIII.
FIRST LOVE.
Four days had elapsed since the ball, and its events, triumphs, and contrarieties were already forgotten. Nobody bestowed a thought upon Prince Eugene, who, concealed from view by the thick cloud of the king's dislike, had fallen into complete oblivion.