Part 10 (2/2)

The philter! What!” cried she with sudden energy, ”he warns me? He grants me--one--one hour!” And then, overpowered by the reality of her supreme desolation, she opened her arms, and looked defiantly above, as if invoking the wrath of that Heaven which had forsaken her.

”Olympia,” said the duke, touching her arm, ”you have but three- quarters of an hour to quit Paris.”

”Dear mother,” implored Eugene, ”decide quickly whether you go or remain.”

She shuddered, and, with a deep sigh, suffered her arms to fall listlessly at her side.

”I must drink of this chalice of humiliation,” said she, mournfully.

”I must fly.”

A groan of anguish broke from the depths of Eugene's suffering heart, while a strange look shot athwart the countenance of the duke. The groan was that of faith that faltered; the glance was that of doubt made certainty.

”I must make my escape,” iterated Olympia in a tone more resolute.

”If Louvois has effected the arrest of a woman allied to the royal family, it is because he is secure of her conviction. Rather than become his victim, I will endure the shame of flight. Time enough remains to me for justification.” [Footnote: The countess's own words.--See Amadee Renee, ”The Nieces of Mazarin,” p. 207.]

”Justification shall come through me!” cried Eugene, raising his right hand as though taking an oath.

”Countess, countess,” urged De Bouillon, ”you have but half an hour.”

”You are right,” returned Olympia, summoning all her resolution to her aid. ”Time is flying, and I must be diligent.”

”I promised his majesty not to leave you until you were on your way, Olympia,” was the duke's reply, ”and I shall remain to fulfil my promise.”

”And I, mother,” added Eugene, ”will never leave you until you are in perfect safety.”

”Then let us prepare,” was Olympia's rejoinder. ”You, duke, be so kind as to collect my papers and money. They are in that ebony secretary at your elbow. Here are the keys. You will find a casket therein, where all that you find may be deposited for the present. I myself will gather up my jewels and such clothing as cannot be dispensed with. Eugene, my son, go at once to the stables: order my travelling-chariot, and see that eight of my swiftest horses are attached to it. In Brussels I shall find a friend in the Spanish viceroy. Send forward relays to Rheims and Namur; and let the men be clad in liveries of dark gray. Hasten, my son; before half an hour, I must be hence!”

When Eugene returned, he found his mother waiting. The duke hastily threw over her shoulders a travelling-cloak bordered with fur, and Olympia, drawing the hood closely around her face, prepared to quit the room.

”Shall I not call my sisters to bid you adieu?” asked her son.

”No,” said she, calmly. ”Their absence would be remarked, and nothing must arouse the suspicion of my guests. I leave to you, Monsieur de Bouillon, the task of communicating my flight to my daughters. May I request you to bear a message to the king also?

Tell him that whenever he will pa.s.s his royal word that I may return without danger of incarceration, I shall be ready to appear before my accusers, and defend my calumniated reputation. [Footnote: Her own words.--See the ”Letters of Madame de Sevigne,” vol. iii.] Give me your arm,--and yours, Eugene: we are late.”

Silently, and without a single expression of regret, she went through the lofty corridors of the hotel, until she reached the private staircase by which Eugene had pa.s.sed to the street that morning. The servants had a.s.sembled to bid her adieu, and, as they tendered their good wishes, she bent her lofty head with the condescension of a queen. Before descending, she addressed a few words to the steward:

”I am forced to leave Paris for a time, Latour. My enemies refuse me the poor privilege of remaining here to refute the absurd charges preferred against me by the senseless rabble that are in their pay.

During my absence, I leave you in full command of my household. You shall receive your wages until you decide to seek employment elsewhere. Farewell all!”

The chariot with eight superb horses was at the postern, and around it stood the lackeys in their liveries of sombre gray. The countess took her seat in the carriage, and, bending forward to kiss her son, said, ”Bear my greetings to your sisters, Eugene.”

”Will my gracious uncle accept this commission?” asked he, turning to the duke.

”Why not you?” asked Olympia.

”Because my place is with you, dearest mother,” was the simple reply of her devoted child, while he took his seat at her side.

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