And through the long night Conrad had listened to his slow, measured step, as forth and back he had paced his room in the vain hope of wooing sleep to
"steep his senses in forgetfulness."
Finally day dawned, and Conrad then ventured to knock and inquire whether his lord would not breakfast. The door was not opened, but Eugene thanked him, and refused. The poor fellow then threw himself down on the carpet and slept for several hours. He was awakened by his father, the only servant besides himself that had remained to share the humiliations of the family, and who now came as bearer of a letter from the Duke de Bouillon, which was to be delivered to the prince without delay.
Delighted to have a pretext that might gain him admittance to the presence of his master, Conrad sprang up and knocked. The door was just sufficiently opened to give passage to the latter, was hastily closed, and the bolt was heard to slide. But two hours later Eugene appeared, and greeted his two faithful attendants with a gracious inclination of the head.
"Now, Conrad," said he, "I am ready to oblige you by taking my breakfast. Immediately after, I shall go out, and, as I go on an affair of importance, order the state-coach, two footmen, and two outriders. What makes you look so blank? Does it seem singular that I ride in state through the streets of Paris?"
"God forbid, your highness!" exclaimed Conrad, "but—"
"But—"
"But we have no footmen—no outriders, your highness."
"True," said Eugene, "I had forgotten. But I suppose that the rascals may be found and re-engaged. Go after them, Conrad, and— stay—where is the steward?"
"He went with the princesses to the Hotel Carignan, your highness."