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       Marjorie Bowen

      The Quest of Glory

      Published by Good Press, 2021

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066202033

       CHAPTER I PRAGUE, 1742

       CHAPTER II THE CHAPEL OF ST. WENCESLAS

       CHAPTER III CAROLA KOKLINSKA

       CHAPTER IV CARDINAL FLEURY’S BLUNDER

       CHAPTER V THE RETREAT FROM PRAGUE

       CHAPTER VI ON THE HEIGHTS

       CHAPTER VII THE HOME AT AIX

       CHAPTER VIII CLÉMENCE DE SÉGUY

       CHAPTER IX THE HERETIC

       CHAPTER X THE MAGICIAN

       CHAPTER XI M. DE RICHELIEU

       CHAPTER XII THE DIAMOND RING

       CHAPTER XIII THREE LETTERS

       CHAPTER I PARIS

       CHAPTER II A WALLED GARDEN

       CHAPTER III A PAVILION AT VERSAILLES

       CHAPTER IV DESPAIR

       CHAPTER V THE PAINTER

       CHAPTER VI IN THE GARDEN

       CHAPTER VII A PICTURE

       CHAPTER VIII VOLTAIRE

       CHAPTER IX REFLECTIONS

       CHAPTER X IN THE LOUVRE

       CHAPTER XI THE FÊTE

       CHAPTER XII AFTERWARDS

       CHAPTER XIII CLÉMENCE

       CHAPTER XIV IN THE CONVENT

       CHAPTER I THE FATHER

       CHAPTER II RETURN TO LIFE!

       CHAPTER III THE BETROTHED

       CHAPTER IV THE CONFLICT

       CHAPTER V THE DEPARTURE FROM AIX

       CHAPTER VI THE GARRET

       CHAPTER VII THE ROSES OF M. MARMONTEL

       CHAPTER VIII THE END OF THE QUEST

       EPILOGUE

       PRAGUE, 1742

       Table of Contents

      The Austrian guns had ceased with the early sunset, and the desolate city of Prague was silent, encompassed by the enemy and the hard, continuous cold of a Bohemian December: in the hall of Vladislav in the Hradcany, that ancient palace of ancient kings that rose above the town, several French officers wrapped in heavy cloaks were walking up and down, as they had done night after night since the dragging siege began. In the vast spaces of the huge pillarless hall with the high arched Gothic roof, bare walls and floor, imperfectly lit by a few low-placed lamps, their figures looked slight to insignificance, and the sound of their lowered voices was a mere murmur in the great frozen stillness. At one end of the hall rose a tall carved wooden throne and rows of benches divided from the main hall by a light railing; these, which had once been the seats of the King and nobility of Bohemia, were now decayed and broken, and behind the empty chair of state was thrust a Bourbon flag tied with the blue and white colours that the French carried in compliment to the Elector of Bavaria, whom they, for many intricate reasons,—some wise, and some foolish, and none just,—were seeking to place on the Austrian throne as Charles II.

      These officers, who were the unquestioning instruments of this policy of France, ceased talking presently and gathered round the degraded throne before which burnt a handful of charcoal over an iron tripod. The only near light was a heavy lamp suspended before the window; a stench of rank oil and powder filled even the cold air, which rasped the throat and the nostrils and had no freshness in it but only a great lifeless chill.

      There were four of these officers, and as they stood round the struggling flame that leapt and sank on the brazier, the cross lights of fire and lamp showed a great similarity in their persons. It was noticeable how totally different they were from their surroundings; no one ever would have thought that they were of the breed that had built this vast barbaric hall or carved the bold monsters on the rude throne: in every line they stood confessed foreign, alien to this crude grandeur and of another nation, another civilization, old and thrice refined.

      They were all slight men, though two were tall; they all wore under their cloaks the uniforms of the famous régiment

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