The prince followed him with his eyes, until the chariot had disappeared from view. Then, sad and solitary, he returned to his own tent.
"And thus I am doomed to lose all that I love!" was his bitter reflection. "The Duke of Lorraine—Laura!—Oh, my Laura, how light to me were other losses, wert thou but here to smile me to forgetfulness!"
And, with his head bowed down between his hands, Eugene forgot all time, to dream of his love. For several hours he sat thus—his spirit all unconscious of the day, the hour, the place—when suddenly he was aroused from his reverie by a familiar voice.
"Eugene," cried Max Emmanuel, "where are you? The whole army is shouting me a welcome, and my friend has no greeting for me! He waits until I force myself into his tent to claim his congratulations!"
"I was not aware that your highness had arrived. I—I—"
"And is this my welcome!" cried the elector, disappointed. "Are you displeased with me for superseding your master and hero?"
"Yes, proud, ambitious Max, I am grieved; for you are right, he was my master and my hero."
"Proud, ambitious, am I? Yes, I acknowledge it, and acknowledge it without shame. The day for hero-worship has passed away, and that of heroic action has dawned for both of us. Forgive me if I have usurped the place of your demi-god; and, in his stead, accept your friend and companion-in-arms. Think of the pledge we made before Buda, and refuse me not the advantage of your support. Without you. I cannot capture Belgrade; with you, I feel that I am invincible. Will you not sustain me?"
"I will, dear Max, and, sorely though you have grieved me, I bid you welcome."