"Yes, my beloved. I would have aspired to the bliss of seeing the beautiful Laura Bonaletta my own wife—my wife before the world."
"How good, how noble of you!" murmured she. "You would have elevated poor Laura Bonaletta to the height of your own greatness, and would have had her bear your glorious name! It would have been too much bliss for me to bear that honored name, Eugene: and yet! oh, how I wish I might have called myself Princess of Savoy! This happiness is denied me, and I must submit; but I will not sin against my conscience, by allowing any judgment of mortal man to drive me from your side. Once more I lay my hand in yours, and what God has joined together, no power of man shall ever put asunder."
Eugene clasped her trembling hand in his, and, raising his eyes to heaven, recorded their vows.
After a pause, Laura resumed: "You have another letter to read, dear Eugene. Perhaps it may console you for our own disappointment. It is from Germany, and will, doubtless, bring pleasant tidings."
Eugene unfolded the dispatch, with a smile; but scarcely had he glanced at its first words, when his face grew pale, and his hands trembled so that he could scarcely hold the paper.
"Ah!" cried Laura, "another disappointment!"
"Oh, Laura," sighed he, "Charles of Lorraine is no more."
"Your dearest friend?"
"Ay—my dearest friend! Charles of Lorraine dead!—And dead of a broken heart. Not on the battle-field, as became the greatest hero of his age, but on a bed of sickness. No officer by to do him honor- -no soldiers there to weep for their adored commander! Oh, I would he a happy man, could I but win the love of my men as he did, and earn but one of the many laurels that were wreathed around his honored head!" [Footnote: Prince Eugene's own words.—See Zimmermann.]
"Your laurels will surpass his, my Eugene," exclaimed Laura, with prophetic love. "You are destined to achieve immortality."