every instinct of my manhood, pity me, if you will, but do not
insult me."

"Pity you!" sneered the countess. "I am a woman; but he who would
venture to pity ME, would receive my glove in his face for his
insolence. Go, faint heart! You are fit for nothing but a whining
priest, for there is not a spark of manhood within your sluggish
breast. No generous blood of the princes of Savoy mantles in your
sallow check; 'tis the ichorous fluid of the churchman Mazarin that-
-"

"Mother!" thundered Eugene, with a force that gave the lie to her
derisive words--"mother, you shall go no further in your disdain of
me, for the blood of Savoy is seething within my veins, and I may,
perchance, forget that she who so affronts my father's son, is my
mother!"

"You have already forgotten," replied the countess, coldly. "My
answer to your infamous charge shall be made not to you, but to your
ancestors."

So saying, she bent her steps toward the ducal throne, and seating
herself thereon, addressed her son:

"Eugene of Savoy, Prince of Carignan, Bourbon, and Piedmont, bend
your knee before the mother that bore you, and hearken to her
words."

The prince obeyed, and knelt at the foot of the throne.