"Yes, my lord. I am acquainted with the secret pa.s.sages of the palace. I will show you the way, and, as G.o.d in heaven hears me, I will bring you safely back."

"How solemnly you speak, Antonio!"

"Ah, excellenza, it is easier to enter that palace than to leave it!

But you shall leave it in safety, as I hope to be saved from perdition!"

"At what hour did you say?"

"At eight this evening. And now, my lord, allow me to leave you for a time. The marquis requires me to remain at the palace, and I must be punctual, or he will suspect me. You will be obliged to engage another commissionnaire; but, believe me, I shall better serve you in the palace than here."

Antonio was allowed to depart; but instead of going toward the Strozzi palace, he betook himself to that of the Elector of Bavaria, where the household were in that state of confusion which precedes a departure. The elector had chosen to leave Venice by night.

"I have an important message from my lord, Prince Eugene of Savoy to his highness of Bavaria," said Antonio, making his way through the busy throng of servants. "Is he in his cabinet?"

"Yes, The chamberlain is in the anteroom. He will announce you."

"His highness will receive the messenger of Prince Eugene," was the reply; and Antonio, having been admitted, had a conversation of some length with the elector, which left the latter in a state of great agitation.

"I wish it were in my power to render a.s.sistance; but I dare not. He made me promise that I would not interfere in any way; and I must keep my word. I would but act in the dark, and might ruin him.--And now to Lucretia, to devise other means of rescue, if these should fail--" After leaving the elector, Antonio directed his steps toward the prison near the palace of the doge. The porter that stood near the grated door looked searchingly at the mask that presumed to tarry before those dismal gates whereof he was the guardian.

"Would you earn a thousand sequins?" said Antonio, in a whisper.

"How?" asked the porter, opening his eyes like two full moons.

"Do you know in which cell Catherina Giamberta is confined?"

"Yes, I know."

"Take this flower to her. It is her birthday, and she loves flowers.

Tell her it comes from Antonio, and ask her to send him the ribbon she wears around her neck. If you return with it, I will give you one thousand sequins."

He handed the porter a large rose, whose stem was carefully wrapped in paper. Christiano scarcely saw what it was, so dazzled were his eyes by the approaching glitter of a thousand sequins. But he thrust it in his bosom, drew the bolts of his prison, and disappeared within its gloomy depths.

Antonio leaned his head against the clammy prison-wall and waited.

In half an hour the turnkey returned.

"Have you your thousand sequins with you?" asked he.

"Here they are," said Antonio, drawing from his cloak a purse, through whose dingy silk meshes the gold was visible.

The turnkey put his hand through the grate, and Antonio saw a faded, yellow paper, tied with a silken cord. He took the packet, and in return gave Christiano the purse. As he did so, he said: "Make good use of it; I have pa.s.sed through five years of misery to earn it.

Make good use of it, and if you will have a ma.s.s said for the repose of my soul, 'tis all I ask in addition to the service you have just rendered me."

He turned away, and, hurriedly taking the direction of St. Mark's, entered a side-door, and stood within its sacred walls. The church was empty and dimly lighted. Antonio knelt down behind one of the pillars, and opened the paper.

It contained a lock of golden hair--the hair of a child. The bravo pressed it to his lips, and, murmuring a few fond words, laid it lovingly upon his heart, and began to pray. When his prayer was ended, he approached a confessional wherein sat an old Benedictine monk, and, kneeling down, began his confession.

The recital was a long, and apparently a terrible one; for more than once the monk shuddered, and his venerable face was mournfully upraised as if in prayer for the penitent. When Antonio ceased, he remained silent, still praying.

"Reverend father," murmured the bravo, "may I not receive absolution for my sins!"

"Yes, my son, you shall receive such absolution as it rests with me to give. If, as I hope, you are truly repentant, G.o.d will do the rest. You have sinned grievously, but you are ready to expiate." And the priest performed the ceremony of absolution.

"Reverend father, give me your blessing--your blessing in articulo mortis."

"Come hither and receive it."

Antonio emerged from the confessional, and knelt on the marble pavement, while the rays from a stained window above fell upon his head like a soft, golden halo. The priest, too, stepped out, and, laying his hand upon that bowed head, made the sign of the cross, and blessed him in articulo mortis. Then going slowly up the aisle, and kneeling within the sanctuary, he pa.s.sed the night in praying for a soul that was about to depart this world.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DUNGEON.

The clock on the Campanillo of St. Mark's struck eight. The day of longing expectation had at last worn away, and Eugene was once more to be admitted to the presence of his beloved.

Before leaving his cabinet he had sent for Antonio, and, reaching him a purse of gold, had said: "Here, my brave--here are two hundred ducats. Take this purse, and, when you make use of its contents, remember that I gave it as a token of my grat.i.tude for your fidelity and friendship."

"No, your highness," replied Antonio, in a tearful voice--"no, your highness, I need no gold. If you would give me a souvenir, let me have the glove that has covered the right hand of a hero whose sword has never been unsheathed save in the cause of right."

"Singular man," exclaimed Eugene, "take them both, and believe that I thank you for your attachment. And now, let us away!"

"Yes, my lord; but I implore you, not this rich cloak of velvet.

Take this black wrapping of cloth; it is more appropriate for an adventure such as ours."

The little gondola lay moored at the stairs, without gondolier or light. n.o.body was there except Eugene and Antonio, who rowed without help. They made for a channel leading to a wing of the Palace Strozzi, whose dark, frowning walls, unrelieved by one single opening, were laved by the foul and turbid waters of the narrow estuary. Antonio's practised eye discovered the low opening that gave access to the palace; and, after fastening his gondola to a ring in the wall, he knocked three times at the door. It was opened, and they entered a small vestibule, dimly lighted, where they were confronted by a man who asked for the pa.s.sword.

Antonio whispered something in his ear, and they were permitted to ascend a steep, narrow staircase leading to a pa.s.sage so contracted that Eugene's shoulders touched on either side, as he struggled along toward a second staircase. When they had reached the last step, Antonio said: "We have no farther to go. Pa.s.s in, signor, and, whatever ensues, remember that you must patiently await my return."

A door opened, Eugene pa.s.sed through, and it closed behind him. He was in a room of singular shape and construction. It was a rotunda, whose blank walls were without opening whatsoever; neither door nor window was to be seen therein. Suspended from the lofty ceiling was an iron chain, to which was attached a small lamp, whose light fell directly over a table that stood in the centre of the room. On the table lay a piece of bread and a gla.s.s of water; near it was placed a wooden chair, and this was all the furniture contained within the dismal apartment.

"A dungeon," said Eugene to himself. "One of those dungeons of which I have heard, but in whose existence I never believed until now."

He was perfectly collected; but he comprehended his position, and knew that he had been betrayed. He had been lured into this secret prison, there to die without a sign! But he must make one desperate effort to escape. Death he could confront--even the death that stared him in the face; but to know that Laura would be doomed to a life of utter wretchedness, was a thought that almost unsettled his reason.

He surveyed the place, and then felt every stone, every crevice, that came within his reach. As he raised his mournful eyes to look above him, the wall just below the ceiling began to move, a small window was opened, and within its iron frame appeared a pale, sinister face--the face of the Marquis de Strozzi.

Eugene tore the mask from his face, and his large eyes flashed with scorn.

"a.s.sa.s.sin!" cried he, "cowardly a.s.sa.s.sin!"

The marquis laughed; he could afford to laugh. "Yes." said he, "I am any thing you may please to term me; but you, Prince of Savoy, are no longer among the living. Your days are numbered: farewell!"

The window closed, and the wall moved slowly back until no trace of the opening was to be seen. A dungeon! A grave! Eugene of Savoy would die of hunger! no human ear would hear his dying plaint; within a few steps of one that loved him he would disappear from earth; and, until the great day whereon h.e.l.l would yield up its secrets of horror to the Eternal Judge, his fate would remain a mystery! Alas! alas! And was this to be the end of his aspirations for glory?

But hark! What sound is that? The invisible door, for which he had been groping in vain, was once more opened, and Antonio glided noiselessly into the room.