With the capture of Buda, the campaign of 1686 closed. The army went into winter quarters, and the officers all congregrated in Vienna, there to indemnify themselves for past hardships by a few months of recreation.

Eugene of Savoy participated very little in the gayety of court- life. While his companion-in-arms, Louis of Baden, plunged headlong into the vortex of pleasure, the shy young Frenchman led a most retired existence, in his little hotel in the Herrengasse. He had purchased this residence for his brother's widow and children, intending to make it not only their home, but his own. The young widow, after spending two years with her brother-in-law, forsook the world and retired to a convent, there to lay her burden of grief at the feet of her Lord. Her children she committed to the care of their great-grandmother, the Princess de Carignan; and Eugene was left to the solitude of a bachelor home, without one friendly voice to bid him welcome to its cold hearth.

Even Conrad, his faithful Conrad, was absent. Eugene had sent him to Turin with messages to Victor Amadeus, which he had not thought it prudent to write. For Conrad was not only loyal and affectionate; he had proved himself a person of such uncommon ability, that he was now his lord's secretary, no longer his servant. He had the care of his money, the administration of his affairs, and was his trusty and confidential friend. Eugene missed him sorely; for Conrad had accompanied him "that night" to the Palais Royal, and although Laura's name had never passed his lips, still her lover found some solace in the companionship of the man who had tended him during that dreadful illness, and who, he knew full well, had learned from his unconscious lips the secret of his love and its blight.

Eugene was in his cabinet. He had been engaged in the study of mathematics, and the perusal of Julius Caesar's campaigns; after which, by way of recreation, he sat down to his escritoire, and, unfolding a sheet of paper, began to make plans of palaces and gardens.

He was so absorbed in his drawing, that he neither heard nor saw the door open, and give entrance to a handsome young man in a rich Spanish costume. For one moment the visitor paused on the threshold, and smilingly surveyed Eugene; then, crossing the room on tiptoes, he laid his hand upon the prince's shoulder.

"I certainly thought I would surprise you inditing a poem or a letter to the lady of your thoughts, and here I find you drawing plans!"

"Max Emmanuel!" exclaimed Eugene, rising joyfully, and embracing his friend.

"Yes, Max Emmanuel, who, having paid his devoirs to his imperial father-in-law, has come with all haste to ask how it fares with his friend. The servants told me you were in your cabinet, so I forbade them to announce me, and made my way hither all alone, that I might take you by surprise, and find out whether you loved me as much as I do you. Seeing you intent upon writing, I was quite confident that I was about to discover a great secret—when lo! I see nothing but a sheet of drawing-paper, covered with porches and pilasters. Tell me the truth, Eugene—why is it that, instead of worshipping Aphrodite, like other youths, you are doing homage to the household gods of domestic architecture?"

"Why, my dear Max, domestic architecture interests me, because I expect to build houses, and lay out grounds. I do not worship Aphrodite like other youths, because—because I know her not."

The elector looked searchingly into Eugene's solemn eyes. "Are you in earnest?" asked he. "Do you intend me to believe that you are unacquainted with the ecstasies and tribulations of love?"

"No," replied Eugene, sadly, "for I am too truly your friend to deceive you, Max. I have loved, but my love was unfortunate; and the wound it has made in my heart is too painful to be probed. Dear friend, let us speak of it nevermore!"

"On the contrary, let us speak of it together without reserve. A hero like Eugene, who has faced death, and so often wrested victory from his enemies, can surely contemplate such a wound as Cupid's dart inflicts upon a man! But tell me, what are unfortunate loves? mine have all been crowned with myrtle, and smothered in roses."

Eugene was silent for a time; then raising his large, melancholy eyes, till they rested affectionately upon the bright, laughing countenance of his friend, he spoke: "I can well believe that you know nothing of the pangs inflicted by unhappy love; for you are handsome, distinguished, and gifted. I, who am none of these, can tell you what it is to love adversely. It is to love with passion; to be parted from the object of your love; and not to know whether she, like you, is constant to her vows, and suffers from your absence, as you do from hers. Pray Heaven that love may never come to you in such a shape as this."

"No danger of me contracting the malady," replied Max; "I am constitutionally incapable of receiving it. I pluck the fruit or flower that grows nearest, never suffering my imagination to run away with my longings. But never mind me and my sybaritic interpretations of the tender passion. Are your woes irremediable? Is the lady married?"

"In the eyes of the world she is."

"But not in the eyes of God, you would say. Then her marriage must have been compulsory or fraudulent?"

"It was fraudulent."

"Then hie we to the pope for justice! His holiness will not refuse it to such a brave crusader as you, and I myself will be your advocate. Give me pen and paper. I will write at once, send your signature and mine to the petition, and dispatch it by a courier this very day; and then the world will see whether we, who stormed Buda, may not storm adverse fortune also."

"Dear friend, neither the pope nor you can storm my adverse fortunes. I must hear from my beloved whether she is true to me before I take one step to possess myself of her. For three years I have waited in vain for her summons; and yet my longing arms are outstretched to clasp her, and never while I live will they encircle the form of another!"

"Nay—these are the enthusiastic ravings of recent disappointment. For a few years longer you may sorrow for your first love; but oblivion will come, all in good time, and you will end by loving some other woman as deserving as your absent mistress, and more attainable. After all, ambition, not love, is the business of life; and Cytherea's groves grow not a flower that can compare with the laurels which fame places on the brow of the conqueror. It is well for me that I am ten years your senior, else I should have been obliged to come behind you, Eugene, and pick up your cast-off leaves."

"The Elector of Bavaria is not a man so easily set aside," was
Eugene's reply.

"And yet efforts are continually being made to set him aside," cried the elector, hastily.

"Who could be so presuming as to lay his sacrilegious hand upon the well-earned laurels of a warrior so distinguished as your highness?"

"Who? You know quite as well as I, that it is the Duke of Lorraine."

"Ah!" exclaimed Eugene, with enthusiasm, "who can compete with him? He is the greatest man of the age. As learned as he is brave; as prudent as he is resolute; a wise statesman, an unrivalled general; equally distinguished in the cabinet and the field. How fortunate I have been in having him for my master in the art of war!"

"You are modest," said the elector, derisively. "As for me, I have no ambition to follow any master in the art of war. I wish to carve out my own plans and schemes, and I am weary of being subject to the will of the Duke of Lorraine."

"He is commander-in-chief of the army," urged Eugene. "No army can be without a head, to which all its members must be subordinate."

"But why must that head be Charles of Lorraine, pray?"

"You surely would not dream of supplanting HIM!" cried Eugene.

"Yes, I would; and I have determined to submit to his dictation no longer. If I cannot have a command independent of the Duke of Lorraine, I shall withdraw my troops, remain in Bavaria, and leave my father-in-law to fight his own battles with the Turks."

"You will do no such thing," said Eugene, laying his hand upon the prince's shoulder, and looking anxiously into his face. "You will not endanger the great cause for which we have fought together by the interference of petty personal jealousies. No, Max Emmanuel, you are too magnanimous to sacrifice the interests of Christendom to such considerations. Moreover, you have gained too much renown as a general, to be overshadowed by the reputation of any man."

"I do not know THAT. I only know that the Duke of Lorraine is in my way, and that for the future he must stand aside, or I resign my commission in the imperial army. But these are matters of future discussion. We will postpone this altercation until the opening of our next campaign. Meanwhile—do you know what brought me hither this morning? I come to snatch you away from cold contemplation, and introduce you to society."

"I have no taste for society," replied Eugene, shrinking from the very thought. "I love solitude; and mine is peopled with delicious visions of the past, as well as glorious aspirations for the future."

"Of what nature are your aspirations? They point to military distinction, I hope. Do they not?"

"Yes; and I trust that I shall attain it honorably. Fate will assign me my place; the rest remains for me to do. I have too much to learn, to mingle with the world."

"Man learns not only through the study of books, but through that of human nature," exclaimed Max Emmanuel; "and you need never hope for greatness unless you gain knowledge of the world. I have come to entice you away, and I will not be refused."

"Whither would you entice me?" asked Eugene, smiling.

"To the paradise of pleasure and of lovely women—to Venice!"

Eugene started, and a glow overspread his pale face. "To Venice!" echoed he. "To Venice!"

"Ay, prince—to Venice," repeated Max Emmanuel. "To live over the
'Arabian Nights,' by joining the great carnival."

"I have heard that Venice is the seat of all elegance and refinement, and that no man who has not graduated in its school of gallantry is considered perfect in worldly accomplishments."

"Then you perceive that you, who are so ambitious, must go with me to Venice to receive your diploma as a gallant. My heart beats with joyful impatience as I think of the delights that await us. The carnival is to be unusually brilliant this year. The Prince of Hanover, the Margraves of Baireuth and of Baden, the brave commander-in-chief of the republican armies, Morosini, and Admirals Molino and Delphini, are all to be there. Morosini himself has written me an invitation to the carnival, and you must accompany me."

"No, your highness," replied Eugene, seriously. "I have not been invited; there is therefore no reason why I should go."

"But if I tell you that I will consider it as a proof of your friendship," persisted the elector, "then I hope you will no longer refuse me. Indeed, you would do me the greatest favor."

"How could it possibly be a favor?" asked Eugene.

"I will tell you how. I am impulsive and easily led away: YOUR principles are firm as a rock. I have known you for three years, and have closely observed your character, Eugene. You are sensible, honorable, and independent; you are reserved, yet sincere—brave, yet discreet. You are more than all this—you are an honest man, rejoicing in the fame of others, and never blind to worth because of envy or longing for notoriety."

"My dear, dear friend," interrupted Eugene, "you overrate me beyond- -"

"No, I do not overrate you," was the elector's reply. "I appreciate you—that is all; and I want you for a counsellor. You know how a reigning prince is surrounded by flatterers; how his follies are heralded to the world as virtues; and, above all, you know how many snares are spread for such a gilded butterfly by artful women, who long, not only for his heart, but for his gold; above all, when he calls himself a prince, and is the son-in-law of an emperor."

"You have a poor opinion of women," smiled Eugene.

"They have given me no reason to think well of them. I know the whole sex to be fickle, coquettish, and heartless; and yet I am forever being led astray by their siren voices. And when the wicked enchantresses smile and swear that they love me, I am ravished— albeit, I know that every word they utter is a lie."

"You mean when they smiled and swore, I presume," said Eugene; "for such delusions must have ended with your marriage. The husband of the beautiful Archduchess Antonia need not fear the wiles of Phryne or Lais."

"Pardon me," replied the elector, with a woe-begone expression of countenance, "they have become doubly dangerous, since they are forbidden fruit. I never was intended to be a model of conjugal fidelity, and my heart beats fearfully when I think of the starry eyes, the raven hair, the pearly cheeks of the fair women of Venice! I have very little confidence in my own valor, if I have to meet them single-handed. Do, Eugene, come with me; let us be companions- in-pleasure as we have been companions-in-arms. I depend upon you to fortify my virtue in the hour of need."

"Your true and loving friend I am and will be ever," replied Eugene; "but do not ask me to go to Venice. I am too poor to go thither in such distinguished companionship."

"It is understood that you go as my guest; there can then be no question of riches or poverty. I have engaged a palace for me and my suite; my household are already there, and you have nothing to do but to make yourself at home. Every thing I possess is at my friend's disposal."

"Which means that your highness considers me as one of your suite, and perchance intends to supply me with pocket-money?" said Eugene, proudly.

"Nay, Eugene," replied the elector, offering his hand, "I meant nothing that could offend my friend. I meant that he should share with me as a brother whatever I possess."

"There are two things, your highness, which no man can share with another. One is his mistress, the other his honor. I am poor, and therefore I cannot share with you your advantages of fortune; I am obscure, and scorn to shine by the borrowed light of your highness's exalted station. Sooner would I dwell in a cottage than in a palace at another man's expense."

Max Emmanuel had at first regarded Eugene with unmixed astonishment; then the expression of his handsome face had changed to one of admiration and tenderness. As the prince ceased, the elector rose from his chair, and took both his friend's hands.

"You are, indeed, one of Nature's noblemen," continued he, affectionately. "Your view of this matter is, as usual, exceptional; but it is the highest view that can be taken of such an offer; and, although I am the loser thereby, I honor you for the refusal. I must then renounce the pleasure I had promised myself of having your company to Venice," added the elector, with a sigh.

"Perhaps not," returned Eugene. "Any thing on earth I would do to prove you my friendship; and I may go to Venice, not for the sake of its beautiful women, but for the pleasure of bearing you company."

"Thank you for that 'may,' Eugene. But let your decision be a speedy one, I implore you; for I long to quit a court that bristles with so many tiresome Spanish formalities. I would be glad to start to- morrow, but I will wait for you. How long must I wait?"

"Only until my secretary returns from Turin. I expect him to-day."

"So much the better. Let me hear from you as soon as possible."

"I will."

The elector rose and took his leave, while Eugene returned to his escritoire, and tried to resume his occupation. But his thoughts were straying to Venice, and his hand lay listless on the paper.

"To Venice!" murmured he. "To Venice—perchance to Laura!"

As he pronounced her name, he broke into one wild ejaculation of joy.

"See her? Oh, yes!" cried he, passionately. "Gaze into my Laura's eyes, I must—should the sight cost me my life! But—no!" faltered he, suddenly. "I must not see her. She has forgotten me; and perhaps at this very hour, when my heart throbs to bursting at the thought of meeting her again, she jests with her husband at the silly episode of her foolish fancy for me! Perhaps she rejoices at her escape from alliance with the disgraced family of the De Soissons, and blesses Heaven for—peace, doubting heart! I WILL believe—I WILL hope—Laura, my Laura.—Ah, Conrad, are you here at last?"

And Eugene, springing from his seat, clasped Conrad's hands within his own.

"Yes, your highness," replied Conrad, his face beaming with joy to see his dear lord. "I have just alighted, and must apologize for my dusty garb. I did not stop to change my dress."

"You were right—quite right, and it needs no apology. Tell me the result of your mission. Did you speak with the Duke of Savoy in person?"

"Yes, your highness, he was so kind as to grant me two audiences. I related to him the entire history of your embarrassments, and their cause. I told him of the sequestration of your estates by the covetous King of France, and of the debts which this act of injustice had compelled you to leave in Paris. He asked me what was your pay as colonel in the Austrian service. I told him that the pay was fluctuating as to amount, and uncertain as to receipt; but at its maximum it might reach the sum of ten thousand florins a year. Upon this, he said: 'Ten thousand florins a year to maintain a prince of the house of Savoy, and one of the most distinguished officers in the imperial service! Well may he be straitened in purse!' Then I took courage, and told his highness that you could not possibly live on less than fifteen thousand florins, and that you appealed to him to assist you in maintaining the dignity of the ducal house of Savoy, and saving its representatives from absolute penury."

"And what was the answer?"

"He requested me to return the next day, which I did. I was most kindly received, and his highness said that he hoped he had found a remedy for your embarrassments, my lord. Although forbidden by the laws of Savoy to pay a salary to any man not in the service of his own dukedom, he would be happy to assist your highness from his own privy purse, until he had arranged matters in a manner more satisfactory and more secure. Prince Antony of Savoy, who is in a dying condition, possesses the revenues of five abbeys, which his highness of Savoy hopes to have transferred to your highness, thus securing to you a fixed and certain income, not subject to the sequestrations of the King of France."

"He wrote no letter?"

"No, your highness. The duke gave me four rouleaux of three hundred ducats each for present need, and bade me take them as his answer to your highness's letter."

Eugene smiled. "Therein I recognize my prudent cousin, who dares not trust his promises to writing. But I thank him for his golden answer. How much did you say you brought, Conrad?"

"Twelve hundred ducats, my lord, which will cover all expenses until the opening of the spring campaign, when your pay is due."

"But, my dear Conrad, you forget that we have debts to pay. And, by- the-by, what news do you bring from Paris?"

"Your highness's creditors there were so astounded at the prospect of being paid, that I almost regretted to be obliged to disturb the tranquillity with which they had accepted their losses. They were so grateful that they bade me say they would be perfectly satisfied with yearly instalments of any amount your highness would be pleased to pay. So I made arrangements to close your whole indebtedness at the end of three years."

"A long time for those poor fellows to wait for their dues," said Eugene, shaking his head. "Conrad, if we obtain the transfer of those abbey revenues, the first sum we receive therefrom goes to my creditors in Paris. Remember that." [Footnote: The payment of Prince Eugene's debts was regarded as something ultra-honorable by the people of Paris, and the Duchess Elizabeth-Charlotte speaks of it in her letters as a noble action.—See "Letters of Elizabeth- Charlotte."]

"I shall be very sure to remember it, my lord; for it will be an occasion of rejoicing to many an honest tradesman, each one of whom will bless your highness's magnanimity."

"Magnanimity! I call it bare justice!" said Eugene. "Give me the memoranda."

Conrad presented the package, which his lord opened, examining each account until he had seen all.

"I miss one account here which I would gladly pay," said he, with some embarrassment.

"The account of Monsieur Louis?" was Conrad's prompt reply.

Eugene made a motion of assent, while Conrad continued:

"My lord," said he, averting his eyes from the prince, "I went to Monsieur Louis, as I did to your other creditors. He said that he could not accept payment for decorations which had never been completed. He would always hold sacred the remembrance of the day when your highness fell insensible upon a heap of garlands that were to have ornamented your reception-rooms, and he had been near to lift you in his arms. He told me this with tears in his eyes, my lord; pardon me if I have awakened painful reminiscences by the recital; but he begged me to convey his message, and I felt bound to comply."

For some moments Eugene kept silence. After a pause, during which
Conrad dared not meet his eye, the prince replied:

"Conrad," said he, "if I should ever afford to have a princely retinue again, I will take Monsieur Louis into my service. At all events, if I ever build a house, he shall decorate it, and shall be well paid for his work.—And now to other things. Did you see her highness the Duchess of Orleans?"

"Yes, my lord. Her highness was walking in the park when your letter was handed to her. She sent for me at once, and received me in the little pavilion."

"The pavilion! The pavilion! Go on."

"She inquired minutely as to your health, prospects, and condition. She asked if you were cheerful. I told her that you were always in high spirits on the day of a battle. Then she would have me relate to her the dangers you had incurred, spoke of her grief at hearing you had been wounded, and seemed never to tire of your praises. Then she sat down and begged me to wait until she wrote you a short letter. Here it is, my lord."

Eugene broke the seal; then, as if ashamed of the emotion that was welling up from his agitated heart, he looked at Conrad, who understood the appeal, and withdrew.

As the letter was opened, a small bit of paper fell from its folds, and fluttered to the carpet. Eugene, without observing it, began to read his letter. It ran thus:

"I cannot refrain from sending you a greeting in my own hand. My dear prince, I hold you in affectionate remembrance; let me hope that you have not forgotten me. Every thing remains here as when you left; false, frivolous, and, to me, as antagonistic as of erst. I have never been happy since SHE was so cruelly forced away from my protection. I have had news of her. My daughter, who lives in Turin, made a visit to Venice lately. I had begged her, if possible, to give me tidings of——, and to give her my hearty love. They met for a moment, when she pressed into my daughter's hand a little note for me. I opened it, but it contained only the slip of paper I enclose. Be assured of my sincere and constant friendship. ELIZABETH- CHARLOTTE."

"The paper! the paper!" exclaimed Eugene, as, with trembling hands, he opened the sheet, and found nothing within. "Great God! the duchess has forgotten to enclose it, and I must away to Paris, this night, this very—"

Just then his eyes rested on the carpet, and there at his feet lay the treasured paper. It contained these words:

"I am a prisoner—watched day and night. Have you, too, forgotten me? I cannot believe it; and, after three long years of silence and of suffering, I still await your coming."

As Eugene read these tender words, he sank on his knees, and pressed the paper to his lips. "Forgive me, my Laura," murmured he. "I was weak in faith, and unworthy of you. But I will love you all the more for my injustice. I come! I come!"

He rose from his knees, calling for Conrad, who was in the antechamber, awaiting a summons to return. Great was his astonishment when he beheld Eugene advancing toward him, his lips parted with a happy smile, his eyes beaming with animation, his whole bearing transformed. What could it mean?

"Conrad," cried he, and his very voice had a joyful peal, like the chime of marriage-bells—"Conrad, we must leave Vienna this evening. Let everything be in readiness. If we have not gold enough with our cousin's ducats, borrow more; but be ready to go with me at once. Stay—I had almost forgotten. Go to the palace; see the chamberlain of his highness the Elector of Bavaria, and tell him to announce to the prince that Prince Eugene of Savoy leaves this evening for Venice. That is all. Make haste, Conrad! Away with you, and fly back as soon as possible, for I tell you that we must be on our road before night!"