"Yes, my lord. Her highness was walking in the park when your letter was handed to her. She sent for me at once, and received me in the little pavilion."
"The pavilion! The pavilion! Go on."
"She inquired minutely as to your health, prospects, and condition. She asked if you were cheerful. I told her that you were always in high spirits on the day of a battle. Then she would have me relate to her the dangers you had incurred, spoke of her grief at hearing you had been wounded, and seemed never to tire of your praises. Then she sat down and begged me to wait until she wrote you a short letter. Here it is, my lord."
Eugene broke the seal; then, as if ashamed of the emotion that was welling up from his agitated heart, he looked at Conrad, who understood the appeal, and withdrew.
As the letter was opened, a small bit of paper fell from its folds, and fluttered to the carpet. Eugene, without observing it, began to read his letter. It ran thus:
"I cannot refrain from sending you a greeting in my own hand. My dear prince, I hold you in affectionate remembrance; let me hope that you have not forgotten me. Every thing remains here as when you left; false, frivolous, and, to me, as antagonistic as of erst. I have never been happy since SHE was so cruelly forced away from my protection. I have had news of her. My daughter, who lives in Turin, made a visit to Venice lately. I had begged her, if possible, to give me tidings of——, and to give her my hearty love. They met for a moment, when she pressed into my daughter's hand a little note for me. I opened it, but it contained only the slip of paper I enclose. Be assured of my sincere and constant friendship. ELIZABETH- CHARLOTTE."
"The paper! the paper!" exclaimed Eugene, as, with trembling hands, he opened the sheet, and found nothing within. "Great God! the duchess has forgotten to enclose it, and I must away to Paris, this night, this very—"
Just then his eyes rested on the carpet, and there at his feet lay the treasured paper. It contained these words:
"I am a prisoner—watched day and night. Have you, too, forgotten me? I cannot believe it; and, after three long years of silence and of suffering, I still await your coming."
As Eugene read these tender words, he sank on his knees, and pressed the paper to his lips. "Forgive me, my Laura," murmured he. "I was weak in faith, and unworthy of you. But I will love you all the more for my injustice. I come! I come!"