"Alas, no! Not many hours afterward, I was called to my mother's room. She lay on her bed, dying,—in her hand, a crumpled letter. The letter was from Barbesieur, and its contents were her death- blow! Eugene, she never opened her eyes again!—And oh, how she loved me—that dear mother!"
"Who that knows you can help loving you?" said Eugene, tenderly.
"Look at me, my treasure—look at me, and smile. What—tears?"
"I am thinking of my mother, dear, and of her wretched life. It humiliates me to remember that she, who was a saint, suffered so many sorrows, while I, her child, who have done nothing to merit it, am too, too happy."
"Nothing to merit happiness? You, whose constancy and heroism I could not dare to imitate? Ah, Laura, remember that before I knew you, I was without hope, without trust, without love. You crossed my path, and then my soul began to soar to God; for God is love, and he that knows not love knows not what it is to adore his Creator. You are not only the architect of my happiness, beloved, but that of my religion."
Laura flung her arms around his neck, and rested her cheek against his. "And you—you are my sun—the luminary of my life! Without you, all is dark and void. Oh, Eugene! be prudent, love, and beware of your enemies; they encompass you with snares. Do not go unarmed to the barracks, for not long ago the soldiers saw a man following you after dusk. They searched him, and found on his person a poniard, and in his possession a purse of gold."
"We cannot deny that the dagger and bowl seem to be the order of the day, in this land of bravi," returned Eugene, "and I am continually warned that, dead or alive, the French are resolved to possess themselves of my body. But between intention and execution there lies a wide path, and in spite of prison and steel, I hope to tread it safely. [Footnote: Eugene's own words.—See Armath, "Life of Prince Eugene," vol. i, p. 51. ] So do not be unhappy on my account, sweet one. Let me look in those dear eyes, and there read the poem of our love—a love that death itself shall not overcome."
"No, not death itself," said Laura, repeating his words, and nestling close to his heart. He laid his hands upon her head, and blessed and kissed her.
"So would I love to die—so—resting on thy heart, and gazing into thy face," murmured she, her eyes filling with tears of joyful emotion.
"Die!" exclaimed he, shuddering. "Love cannot die. Through all eternity, its choral hymn—"
He unclasped his arms, for steps were heard along the corridor, and presently, within the frame of the open door, was seen an orderly attached to the household. Laura retreated to the parlor, while Eugene demanded the reason of an intrusion so untimely upon his privacy.