Strozzi raised his obedient eyes and looked—for a while, in blank amazement. But gradually his black orbs dilated, and a sudden flash of intelligence crossed his face. He breathed hard.
"I think, sir, I think you are—are—ah, yes! I know. You are Count
Barbesieur de Louvois."
"Right, right," cried Barbesieur. "Laura Strozzi's brother."
"Are you the brother of my darling Laura?" cried Strozzi. "If you are, you are welcome, sir. Oh, if she were but alive to see you!"
"Alive? What do you mean? Where do you suppose her to be?"
"She is dead," replied Strozzi, his eyes overflowing with tears.
"Dead—my own, my precious angel!"
"Of what did she die?" asked Barbesieur, highly amused at poor
Strozzi's grief.
Strozzi shook his head. "No one on earth knows, sir. She must have dissolved in a sunbeam, and gone back to heaven, for her corpse was never found here below."
"Strozzi, you are mistaken," exclaimed Barbesieur, with an authoritative gesture. "Mark my words, and believe them, or I shall be very angry. The Marchioness Laura is not dead. She lives here on earth, not far away from you."
"She lives!" repeated Strozzi, starting from his seat and falling at Barbesieur's feet. "Tell me where she is. Let me go, let me go, and bring her home. Come—come with me!"