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Monsieur Louvois will assuredly have you punished for your presumption; but before he hears of your insolence toward him, you shall be chastised for the injuries you have inflicted upon me." "Dare harm one hair of my head," muttered Barbesieur, between his teeth, "and your life shall be the forfeit. My father will avenge me."
That night I took her away, hoping by change of scene to induce forgetfulness, where hope, of course, was extinct. One day, in Milan, a group of men were talking of some recent victory of the imperialists, and to my amazement I heard the name of the Prince of Savoy among those who had most distinguished themselves." "Was Laura with you?" asked Barbesieur. "Alas, she was!
"I will tell you how to make an end of him," cried Barbesieur, patting him on the shoulder. "Poison him!" Strozzi gazed with astonishment at his brother-in-law, and forthwith conceived a profound respect for his cleverness. "Did you know that?" said he, with a silly smile. "Did you know that I meant to poison him?"
"Thou wilt prove it to me when, day after to-morrow, thou forsakest father and brother, to cleave to me alone; for never will my mother's son take the hand of Barbesieur Louvois." "Nor my mother's daughter," cried Laura, vehemently, "for she, too, has a debt of hatred to pay to the man who broke that mother's heart.
Who can be this man that has so suddenly cowered the heart of my noble mother?" "I think that he is the son of Louvois," whispered she. "Ah, the presuming Barbesieur, who would have given his name to a Princess de Carignan?" "Yes the same. His beard is dyed, and he wears false locks, but, spite of his disguise, I feel sure that it is Barbesieur.
Pity she is not here to see them." The marquis shivered. "Who speaks of my Laura?" said he. "I, I, her brother," bawled Barbesieur, looking straight into Strozzi's eyes. "I spoke of her, and, by G-d, I have a right to call her, for I am her brother Barbesieur!" Strozzi extended his hand, and an imbecile smile flitted over his ghastly face. "Ah! then, you love her?" asked he, mournfully.
Did one of your servants bring you a fine peach on a salver, about half an hour ago?" Barbesieur turned very pale, and stammered, "Yes." "Did you eat it?" "Yes," murmured he, "I did." "Then, Barbesieur, that peach avenged Eugene and Laura both. I sent it to you." "You!" cried Barbesieur, with a shudder. "Yes," replied Olympia, her black eyes darting fire as she spoke.
Have you seen my courier?" "No, I have not seen him, but I know that you were guilty of sending me written dispatches on a subject which pen should never have recorded." "Oh!" sneered the dutiful son, "you are better, I see, for you grow abusive. Then I suppose my courier has been arrested?" "Ay, and your letters are in the hands of Louis XIV." "Can it be possible?" cried Barbesieur, anxiously.
I came here to show his majesty that I shall maintain my rights in the face of his displeasure, and here I shall remain, though she and every other woman here do homage to my foes. What is the Marchioness Bonaletta to me?" But, in spite of himself, his eyes would wander to the spot where she stood, and his heart seemed ready to burst when he beheld Barbesieur approach her.
Its long shelves were filled with jars and phials, and over the chimney was a wide mantel, with porcelain pipkins, retorts, glass tubes, and flasks. "Ah," cried Barbesieur, taking a phial from its shelf, "this is a precious beverage, that lulls one to sleep or to death, as one's friends may prescribe." "Yes it is laudanum," replied Strozzi.
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