"You do—do you? Well, I have come out here to tell you that I shall do no such thing. How do I know that your breath may not poison my cup and—"
"Woman!" cried Eugene, springing up from his seat.
His mother put him firmly back. "I command you to keep silence," said she, imperiously. Then, resuming her colloquy with the woman who stood by, with arms akimbo: "I will tell you how you can oblige me without any risk to yourself."
"How, pray?"
"Sell me, not only the chocolate, but the cups that contain it. I will give you a louis d'or for each one."
The woman's eyes glistened with greed of gold. "Two louis d'ors for two cups of chocolate!" said she to herself, "that is a brave trade for me. You shall have them," added she aloud. "I will fetch them in a moment."
And off she pattered with her slipshod shoes into the house. The countess then addressed her son, who, leaning back in a corner of the carriage, sat with his head buried in his hands.
"Eugene," said she, emphatically, "if you are to accompany me any farther, it must be as a peace-loving abbe not as an irascible soldier. If you incense these people against us, your indiscreet zeal will cause me to be captured. I have no longing for death; I desire to live until my son, the mighty cardinal, has trampled under foot the least as well as the greatest of my enemies."
"Oh, mother, I have not only YOUR injuries to avenge, but mine! I have the burning shame of yesterday to wipe out, although the wound of my humiliation can never be healed."
"Time—Nature's sweet balm—heals every wound, and in our days of adversity let this be our consolation. To the sharp lash of Destiny the wise man will bow in silence; but if the blow be from the hand of man, it is from the crucible of the suffering it imposes that must come the strength wherewith we retaliate; from the depths of our wounded hearts that must spring the geysers of our seething revenge. It would gratify me to have you the companion of my flight, but, if in the impotence of your wrath you seek to defend me, it will be better for us to part.—Ah, here comes the chocolate! I confess that I rejoice to scent its fragrant aroma. Let us drink, and afterward you will decide whether you subscribe to my exactions, or return to Paris."