"
"They shall kill me first," says Lamballe, at the queen's side.
"Yes, truly," says the soothsayer, "for Fate prescribes ruin for your
mistress and all who love her."
[Footnote: Among the many lovers that rumor gave to the Queen, poor Fersen
is the most remarkable. He seems to have entertained for her a high and
perfectly pure devotion. He was the chief agent in the luckless escape to
Varennes; was lurking in Paris during the time of her captivity; and was
concerned in the many fruitless plots that were made for her rescue.
Fersen lived to be an old man, but died a dreadful and violent death. He
was dragged from his carriage by the mob. In Stockholm, and murdered by
them.--Author's note.]
"And," cries Monsieur d'Artois, "do I not love my sister, too? I pray you
not to omit me in your prophecies."
To whom Monsieur Cagliostro says, scornfully, "You may look forward to
fifty years of life, after most of these are laid in the grave. You shall
be a king, but not die one; and shall leave the crown only; not the
worthless head that shall wear it. Thrice shall you go into exile; you
shall fly from the people, first, who would have no more of you and your
race; and you shall return home over half a million of human corpses, that
have been made for the sake of you, and of a tyrant as great as the
greatest of your family.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113