"No, Paul, I were no true friend, if I did not stand by you in this affair. Here comes Baron Ostrova, the duke's secretary, and presumably his second, since he has usually acted as such in Bora's affaires d'honneur. What instructions, Paul?"
"This evening. At six. Sabres. To the death."
And Paul went on smoking as quietly as if a duel were an everyday event with him.
In an ante-chamber of the Vistula Palace sat Count Radzivil, premier of Czernova, in company with Marshal Zabern, the Warden of the Charter; and the Charter being the palladium of Czernovese liberty, the custody of that sacred document carried with it a high distinction, second only to that of the premiership.
The two ministers were waiting to communicate to the princess the contents of an important despatch, which had just arrived from the Czernovese ambassador at St. Petersburg; for Czernova, be it known, though but a small state, was nevertheless sufficiently wealthy to maintain an embassy at the three courts with which its interests came most in contact, namely, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and Berlin.
The only other occupants of the apartment were two silent chamberlains, standing like statues before the folding doors of the audience-chamber, each dressed in white pantaloons and silk stockings, and each decorated with the silk wand of office.
Ladislas Zabern was a man of fine soldierly presence, with limbs that seemed carved from oak and soldered with iron. Courage was indelibly stamped upon his face. He was fifty-three years of age, and though his dark hair and moustaches were streaked with gray, he had lost none of the energy of youth.
A sabre-cut marked his left cheek, for he had known fighting from early days. There was a legend current among his admirers—and they numbered every man with Polish blood in his veins—that in childhood he had been taken by his father, a patriotic noble, to the sacramental altar, and made to swear that he would be the life-long enemy of Russia.
Be that as it may, his fiery youth had been spent in vain attempts to procure the emancipation of Poland from the Russian yoke, and, as a result, he had made acquaintance with that indispensable adjunct to Muscovite civilization, Siberia. Chains and hardships, however, had not soured his nature, as the good-humored twinkle in his eye sufficiently proved.
He was the sword and buckler of Czernova, unceasingly vigilant in guarding this last fragment of Poland both against open aggression from without, and also against secret disaffection from within.
The Muscovites of the principality who regarded him as an incarnation of the devil had some shadow of reason on their side; for though Zabern was naturally of a frank and open disposition, the web of political circumstances had forced him to be crafty and subtle.
Czernova, being but a small state, was dependent for its freedom, not upon strength of arms but upon the arts of diplomacy, and in those arts Zabern was without a rival. Prince Metternich and Count Nesselrode came off second-best when they played their game with the Polish patriot.
No man ever wore the mantle of Ananias with more ease and grace, and when rebuked half-playfully, half-seriously by the princess for some brilliant piece of deception, calculated to make the most daring diplomatist stand aghast, he would merely reply: "The truth is, your Highness, each of us was trying to deceive the other; I happened to be the greater liar of the two, and so I succeeded. With two empires like Austria and Russia pressing upon our borders and endeavoring to annex us, it would be folly to act on the lines of the Sermon on the Mount. We'll wait till they set us the example."
It was only natural that, as a refugee from Siberia, he should be an object of hatred to the bureaucracy of St. Petersburg, and extradition having failed to secure his person, recourse was had to darker methods, and Zabern had come to regard attempts upon his life as all in the day's work.
Such was Marshal Zabern, the leading member of the Czernovese ministry, for Radzivil's premiership was purely nominal. None knew better than the count himself that he had been selected by the princess mainly to gild the cabinet with a famous historic name.
Radzivil had been narrating to the marshal the incident of the fracas between Paul and the Duke of Bora.
To the premier's surprise Zabern received the news with an air of grim satisfaction.
"Why, count, this is manna from heaven. Have you told the others?" he added, meaning by that expression the rest of the ministry.
"Yes, and the opinion of one and all is that the princess must be called upon to intervene."
Zabern smiled with the air of one who should say, "A parcel of old women!"
"Count," he said, assuming an authoritative manner, "this duel must take place. The good of the state requires it."
"The cabinet connive at the breaking of the law! Impossible! It is our duty to inform her Highness without delay, unless," added the premier, "unless you can give good reason for acting otherwise."
"Well, I, Zabern, forbid you," laughed the marshal good-humoredly. "Won't that reason suffice you, count?"
Ere the premier could reply, the chiming of a silver bell in the audience-chamber announced that the princess was ready to receive her visitors.
The chamberlains flung wide the open doors.
"Remember," said Zabern, in a somewhat stern whisper, "not a word of this duel to the princess."
And the perplexed Radzivil, always guided by the advice of his colleague, gave a reluctant assent.
The two ministers entered the White Saloon,—a hall so called from its pure white decorations relieved with gold.
At a table sat the fair princess who now bore the name of Natalie, but in earlier days that of Barbara.
She looked up with a bright smile, and motioned the two councillors to a seat at her table.
Zabern was her favorite minister, and he on his part was ready to sacrifice his life to advance her interests and happiness. It was this sentiment which made him look askance at her intended marriage with the duke. With doubts of its wisdom even as a political expedient, he had no doubts at all as to the private unhappiness that would result from the union of such an ill-assorted pair.
Therefore, he, Zabern, would prevent it; and matters that day seemed to be favoring his design.
"You come at an unusual hour, my lords, presumably, therefore, with important tidings?"
"From the grand liberticide," remarked Zabern.
"Our representative at St. Petersburg," remarked the premier, taking some papers from his despatch-box, "reports that at an ambassadorial ball given at the Winter Palace a few nights ago the Emperor Nicholas walked up to him, and in a severe voice, obviously intended to be heard by the whole assembly, exclaimed: 'Is it true, sir, that the Princess of Czernova has become a convert to the Catholic Faith?'"
"So my secret has transpired at last!" smiled Barbara. "Well, it matters little. It would have become public knowledge soon, inasmuch as my coronation must take place in a Latin cathedral."
"Of course the reply of our representative was that he could give no answer till he had received instructions from the princess."
"What said the Czar to this?"
"'We,'" replied Radzivil, reading from the despatch, "'we shall send an envoy to remind the princess that her coronation-oath requires assent to the Greek Faith.' Your Highness, the Czar speaks truly. Czernova must be governed according to its Charter, and as the Charter fixes the words of the coronation-oath, we cannot deviate from them without violating the conditions upon which autonomy was ceded to us. I would that we could send word to deny the truth of your conversion. Cannot," continued the premier, fixing a wistful look upon the face of the young princess, "cannot your Highness be persuaded to return to your early faith?"
"My early faith," murmured Barbara to herself, "has never changed." And then aloud she added, "Why, count, would you have me change my faith as lightly as I change my mantle?"
Zabern, though a Catholic himself, and that mainly because the Czar was a Greek, was nevertheless a politician before all things, and he here intervened with a characteristic suggestion.
"Since your Highness has not yet publicly avowed yourself a Catholic, you are free to deny that you are one. Act diplomatically. Publicly attend the services of the Greek basilica; privately have your own oratory in the palace here. The Pope will doubtless grant you a dispensation to this effect."
"No more such counsel, I pray you," said Barbara, coldly. "I am a Catholic, not a Jesuit."
"Your Highness corrects me with admirable judgment," returned Zabern, who made a point of always agreeing with his sovereign, for by such course he usually contrived to secure his own way in the end.
"Our representative proceeds to say," remarked the premier, referring again to his despatch, "that the Czar's words and manner were regarded by all the ambassadors present as a distinct menace to your Highness. 'The annexation of the principality,' and 'Finis Czernovæ' passed from lip to lip."
"Czernova has survived many similar threats," said Barbara disdainfully.
"It is the contention of the Czar and his ministers," pursued the premier, "that as a Catholic your Highness is precluded from reigning. We would not alarm your Highness unnecessarily, but we cannot disguise the fact that we are approaching a very grave crisis."
"Be it so," replied Barbara, firmly. "My faith is dearer to me than crown or life. I shall not change it to please the Czar."
Radzivil looked the picture of melancholy at this avowal.
"As the Czar has promised to send an envoy," remarked Zabern, "your Highness will, of course, delay your answer till his arrival?"
To this Barbara assented.
"And in the interval," smiled Zabern cynically,—he was never happier than when opposing Russian designs,—"we will set the jurists to work to discover whether they cannot put upon the coronation-oath an interpretation different from that taken by the Czar. We will appeal to the decision of the other Powers; they being interested in opposing Russian aggrandizement will readily lay hold of any ambiguity in the wording of the oath."
After a brief interval of silence the princess, knitting her brows into a frown, said,—
"How comes the Czar to be aware of that which I revealed to my cabinet under pledge of secrecy?"
The two ministers interchanged significant looks.
"The statement we are about to make," began Radzivil, "is of so distasteful, so startling a character that we have hitherto withheld it from your Highness, hoping that it might prove false. In vain, however. We can no longer blind ourselves to the fact that there is a traitor in the cabinet."
"A traitor!" ejaculated Barbara.
"Reluctantly we are forced to this conclusion. Secrets discussed in the privacy of our council-chamber have been reported to the ministers of the Czar. The previous letters of our ambassador leave no doubt on this melancholy question."
Here the premier began to read various extracts, all tending to prove his statement.
"One of my own ministers secretly corresponding with the Czar!" murmured Barbara in dismay. "Who is the traitor! Whom do you suspect, my lords?" turning sharply upon her ministers.
"I know not in the least at whom to point the finger," replied the premier.
A smile flickered over Zabern's face, and he murmured to himself, "Blind Radzivil!"
"You suspect some one, marshal?" said Barbara, reading his looks.
"Your Highness, I do, but prefer to verify my suspicions ere stating them. I will say this much, however," continued Zabern, bending forward over the table and speaking in a whisper, "he whom I suspect is not one of the 'Transfigured.'"
The princess seemed somewhat relieved by this last statement.
"My spies are attentive to the traitor's movements," continued Zabern. "Nay, more; I have his emissary under lock and key in the Citadel."
"You refer to the man Russakoff?" asked Radzivil.
"Yes. I am convinced that he is the intermediary of this treasonable correspondence, and nothing but her Highness's clemency prevents me from learning the name of his principal."
"My clemency? How?" asked Barbara in surprise.
"The rack would soon make him confess."
"Oh! no, marshal," returned the princess, quickly. "No prisoner shall be put to the torture during my régime. I am trying to civilize Czernova. The rack would indeed be a return to barbarism."
"Then we must fall back upon our secretary, Trevisa, and pray the saints that he will unravel that cipher despatch. It may give us the clue we want."
"A traitor in the cabinet!" murmured Barbara. "Russia's arm is long and crafty; when will it be stayed? That desire of our hearts, a war betwixt England and Russia, seems as far off as ever."
"Nearer than men think," returned Zabern. "And strange to say, our capital contains at the present moment an Englishman whose words may have the effect of bringing it about."
"Who is this potent personage?" asked Barbara in surprise.
"A certain Captain Woodville, lately returned from India."
Zabern had been apprised by Radzivil of the duke's suspicion as to a former love-affair between the princess and this English captain, and therefore while speaking he watched Barbara with an eye ready to detect the slightest change in her manner. But the princess showed no confusion of face at the mention of the name "Woodville," and the marshal was forced to the conclusion that the duke was laboring under an error. Or, he murmured to himself, "the princess knows well how to hide her feelings."
"Woodville? Woodville?" repeated Barbara pensively; and then her face brightening, she added, "Surely not the Woodville of Tajapore renown?"
"The very same," replied Radzivil. "He is staying at the Hôtel de Varsovie. I had a—a brief conversation with him this morning."
At this moment the premier received from Zabern a look which warned him to say as little as possible concerning that interview.
"The siege of Tajapore!" said the princess. "Ah! that was a noble defence. Would four hundred of our men have done the like, think you, Zabern?" and without waiting for reply she turned to Radzivil and asked: "Did you inquire of Captain Woodville how long he intends to remain in Czernova?"
"His stay will be very brief, I fear," replied Radzivil, thinking of the duel and its probable issue.
"Very long, you mean," said Zabern in a grim whisper to the premier, "for you believe he'll never quit Czernova."
"I should like to see this illustrious Englishman ere he departs. Count, you must arrange for an audience."
And the count, knowing that he was conniving at a breaking of the law which would probably end in the death of this same Englishman, felt extremely uncomfortable, and but for the presence of his colleague, would certainly have revealed the whole truth.
"But how," inquired Barbara, "can Captain Woodville's words bring about an Anglo-Russian War?"
"Why, thus," returned Zabern. "He was interviewed at Alexandria by the correspondent of the English 'Times,' to whom he stated his belief that the artillery officers commanding the Afghans in their attack upon Tajapore were really Europeans in disguise, his opinion being based upon the superior way in which they handled their guns. And of what nationality they were is shown by the fact that Russian words were frequently heard in the heat of the mêlée. Captain Woodville has already embodied his views in despatches which are now under the consideration of the British cabinet. We shall soon have a troubling of the diplomatic waters. Lord Palmerston, alarmed at the recent advances made by Russia in Central Asia, is in no mood to be trifled with. He may seize upon the siege of Tajapore as a casus belli. If an Anglo-Russian war should come—"
Zabern checked his utterance and tapped the hilt of his sabre significantly.
"Then will come the day of Poland's uprising," said the princess with a heightened color. "My lords, you may withdraw."
The premier of Czernova and the Warden of the Charter rose, bowed, and retired, wending their way in leisurely fashion to the entrance of the palace.
"Marshal," said Radzivil, with a troubled look, "the princess seems to take great interest in this Woodville?"
"So much the more angry will she be with the man who slays him," returned the other, coolly.
"Which is your reason for wishing this duel to take place?" said Radzivil angrily. "You seek to destroy my favorite scheme of uniting the princess and the duke?"
"Precisely; that is my object. Her Highness will certainly be offended at seeing her future consort presuming to set himself above the law. It may cause her affections to become alienated. The duke has walked nicely into my net, as I foresaw he would."
"What net?"
"The Anti-duelling Act," replied Zabern with a cynical smile. "Why was I so earnest in getting the Diet to pass that measure?"
"To please the princess."
"Partly that, but much more because I saw in the measure an opportunity of entangling the duke. Aware of his arrogant disposition, I knew that he, deeming himself above the law, would soon be engaging in another duel. And my plan has succeeded," continued the marshall with a triumphant chuckle. "This day the duke is pledged to a duel with sabres. They fight à la mort,—that's the best of it. It's possible they may kill each other; if not, the alternatives are that the Englishman will slay the duke—and may the saints confer that boon upon Czernova!—or—"
"Or, which is far more likely, the duke will slay the Englishman."
"Regrettable that, since the Englishman is a fine fellow, who deserves a better fate. In that case the duke, in accordance with the new enactment, will have to stand his trial for murder."
Radzivil stood aghast. Strange that he had not carried the matter in thought so far as this!
"And if the princess adheres to the spirit and the letter of the law," continued Zabern with imperturbable coolness; "and, as you know, she is an enthusiast for law, she will have to sign the warrant for the execution of her intended consort."
"Good God!" gasped the premier.
"Works out beautifully, doesn't it? I intended it should."
"Oh, this shall not be! The princess must intervene to stop this duel. I will return at once and inform her."
"Hold!" said Zabern, sternly. "Let the duke abide by his folly and lose his bride. If Polish ascendancy is to be maintained in Czernova the duke must go. Fool!" he continued with a savage flash of his eyes, and forcibly detaining the premier by the sleeve. "How long, think you, shall we retain office if Bora once sits upon the throne of the Lilieskis?"
They had now reached the grand entrance of the palace. A trooper moved forward to meet them and stood at the salute, apparently wishful to deliver a message.
"What is it, Nikita?"
"Sire, the spy Russakoff has escaped from the Citadel."
"Damnation! the guards shall swing for this."
After the departure of her two ministers the Princess Barbara, rising from her seat, passed through an open casement into the sunlit gardens without; the sentinels on the terrace presenting arms as she went by.
A broad and noble avenue of linden trees faced her, and here silent and without attendants the fair princess walked, darkly meditating on the treachery latent within her cabinet.
A shadow fell across her path, and, raising her eyes, she saw before her a stately and dignified figure robed in splendid scarlet and dainty lace.
It was Pasqual Ravenna, Cardinal Archbishop of Czernova, an ecclesiastic who vainly sought to hide his Italian origin by Polanizing his name into Ravenski.
He was a man who had passed his fortieth year, but he looked far more youthful; and his clean-shaven, handsome face was as clearly sculptured as a head on an antique medallion.
He was a member of the princess's ministry, a permanent member, in fact, for, by virtue of an antiquated statute both the Roman archbishop and the Greek archpastor were entitled to hold office in the cabinet—an arrangement that did not tend to its harmony. A favor to one was an affront to the other; and the mild and amiable Radzivil was perpetually employed in smoothing the differences between them.
Barbara's avowal to the cabinet of her real faith had been a great triumph for Ravenna over his Greek rival Mosco, and he looked forward to additional triumphs. His desire of bringing all Czernova within the papal fold was known to all men; not so well known, however, was his taste for amorous intrigue, though a physiognomist on studying his countenance would have said that Ravenna, like Cæsar, never permitted pleasure to interfere with ambition.
Doffing his red beretta the cardinal bent his knee and raised the princess's hand to his lips. It was clear at a glance that Ravenna was not a persona grata with Barbara, for though she did not withdraw her hand her face assumed a cold expression.
With an air of authority he took his place on the left side of the princess, and began to pace to and fro with her beneath the shade of the linden trees.
"Princess, I have returned, as you see, from the Vatican, the bearer of a missive from his Holiness, Pope Pius."
He presented a massive envelope, its seal stamped with the papal keys. But Barbara waved it aside. She had received many such epistles of late, and the novelty was wearing off.
"You know its contents, I presume. Read it for me. What says his Holiness?"
Ravenna broke the seal and unfolded the letter which was a somewhat lengthy one, and written in the choicest Latinity.
"The Holy Father greets you as his dear daughter in Christo, and, as you are now firmly established upon the throne"—Barbara could not repress a smile in view of the recent menace of the Czar—"he deems that the time is ripe for the public avowal of your faith."
"At last the Pope and I are at one. This night shall Radzivil make known my faith to the Diet. I ever loathed this garb of secrecy and hypocrisy."
"Its assumption was necessary. The saints themselves must bow in the house of Rimmon at times."
"Would that I could drop the other deception and reign in my own name!" murmured Barbara to herself.
"His Holiness," proceeded the cardinal, glancing at the papal missive, "anticipates the happy day when Czernova shall be purified from the malaria of heresy that now taints it."
"And in what way does he suggest that the purificatory process shall begin?" said the princess with a slight frown.
"His Holiness hath ventured in this epistle to briefly indicate the lines of the ecclesiastical policy to be observed within the principality. We must begin by penalizing the schismatic Greeks. The Diet must pass a law to exclude them from holding civil offices."
"And create a rebellion!" murmured Barbara. "These priests! will they never learn wisdom?" And aloud she asked, "And would your Eminence have me exclude the Duke of Bora, my future consort, both from the cabinet and the Diet?"
"Your future consort? Alas, princess, I regret to say that the Pope has again refused to grant you dispensation to marry the duke."
"We shall not ask a third time."
"Your Highness cheerfully accepts his decision?"
"On the contrary, it is my intention to marry without the papal sanction. I must," she added, her expression showing how hateful to her was the thought of such marriage—"I must conciliate my Muscovite subjects."
"Princess, you, as a vassal of the holy Roman suzerain—"
"By your leave, Sir Cardinal," exclaimed Barbara, haughtily, "will you cite the Act by which the Diet consented that Czernova should become a fief of the Papal See?"
It was the first time that Barbara had adopted such a tone with Ravenna, who listened, however, without betraying surprise; for he was one of those men whose outward serenity nothing seems to disturb, and therein lay one of the secrets of his power. He clearly recognized that a struggle was impending. The princess, hitherto compliant with his will, was about to make an attempt to shake off his authority.
"Princess, you, as a loyal daughter of the True Church—"
"Daughter! that is a good word. A daughter is not a slave."
"But she owes obedience. You cannot marry the duke, for the Holy Father forbids the union, and no Catholic priest dare perform the ceremony in opposition to the will of Pio Nono."
"There is one brave priest in Czernova upon whose loyalty I can rely."
"You allude to the Abbot Faustus, a lawless ecclesiastic who must learn to discipline his proud soul. If your Highness will glance at this missive, you will note that the Pope has conferred upon me full jurisdiction over the Convent of the Transfiguration."
"A convent whose abbot from old time hath been independent of the see of Slavowitz! You will put Faustus in a dilemma," continued Barbara with a touch of sarcasm in her voice; "he will not know which of the two Infallibilities to follow: Pius II., who granted the convent its privileges, or Pius IX., who abolishes them. I greatly fear that he will follow the old Pope in preference to the new."
Barbara would have repudiated the statement that she was not a true Catholic. Nevertheless it is to be seen that her Catholicism like many other things in Czernova was peculiarly sui generis.
"And your Highness supports Faustus in his defiance of the archbishop?"
The princess shrugged her graceful shoulders.
"I am aware that your Eminence is extremely anxious to regulate the affairs of that convent, and that Faustus in the exercise of his ancient rights declines to admit you within his walls. It is no concern of mine if an abbot refuse to obey his archbishop."
"Still, a word from the princess would procure his instant submission."
"And that word shall never be spoken."
"The Convent of the Transfiguration must hide strange mysteries behind its walls when the Pope's own nuncio is denied admission."
There was on the part of the princess a sudden start, which the cardinal accepted as confirmatory of his suspicion.
"Princess," he said with a smile, "you are not yet perfect in statecraft, for you have not learned the art of veiling your thoughts. It is as I have long suspected; you have some secret connected with that monastery. Your championing of Abbot Faustus is not altogether disinterested."
"Quit me this theme," said Barbara, with dignity. "I shall not misuse my authority to gratify your ambition by depriving a brave abbot of his ancient privileges. Indeed from this day forth it will be well for each of us to understand the other, inasmuch as you seem strangely disposed to reverse our respective positions, deeming yourself the ruler of Czernova, and myself your minister." She paused for a moment as if to collect her thoughts, and then resumed: "My lord cardinal, under strange circumstances you stole me away in infancy, deluding my father into the belief that I had died. You took charge of my training and education—"
"With a view to your ultimate restoration," said the cardinal, bowing.
"True. You desire to present the Czernovese with a princess who should be a Catholic, and not, as her forefathers had been, a member of the Greek faith—"
"A noble aim!"
"A princess who should be a willing tool in the hands of the Latin Church. The first part of your scheme has succeeded. I am a Catholic, and shall never break with the faith of my childhood, for it has grown dear to me, though the thought that you, my lord, belong to the same faith might very well induce me to renounce it. But as to the second part of your scheme—your expectation of finding in me a servile instrument ready to execute every decree of the Papal See is destined to failure. No priest shall dictate to the daughter of Thaddeus. Let the crosier submit to the sceptre. Jesuits by their intolerance contributed to the fall of old Poland. They shall not play their game in Czernova."
The cardinal listened with chiding smile, as if at the waywardness of a pretty child.
"Princess! princess! you forget the tenure by which you hold your crown."
"I hold my crown," said Barbara, with proud flashing eyes, "by right of birth."
"A right that you cannot prove without my witness."
"And therefore you would use your knowledge?"
"To advance in Czernova the interests of the True Church."
"For that I could forgive you. But have you no ulterior aim? Shall I unmask the secret purpose of your heart? Radzivil made an unwise choice in sending you to the Vatican to plead for the dispensation. Were you really urgent on my behalf?"
"As urgent as one may be with a pope."
"Hypocrite!" said the princess, turning upon the cardinal with a blaze of scorn. "Can I not see you now in my mind's eye whispering in the ear of the Pope to withhold the dispensation? And why? The heretical duke must not marry the princess, because the cardinal would have her for his secret mistress. Will you say that I wrong you by this thought?"
"Princess, you have rightly divined my secret. It is true that I love you—"
"I would that Zabern could hear you!" said Barbara indignantly. "You, a priest, to talk to your princess of love!"
It was significant that the marshal's name, and not that of Bora, should be the first to rise to her lips.
"A priest? True. Such is my misfortune, since once a priest always a priest. My love for you—"
"Let there be an end of this language," said Barbara with dignity. "It is treason."
"Nay, princess, listen. I have loved you in secret from the day when I set eyes on you in the Dalmatian convent. I have elevated you to a throne partly for the purpose of making you mine, that you might taste the luxury of power, and, tasting, be ready to sacrifice anything, even your own person, rather than lose that power. Aware of my love, you are forming a plan to escape me. If you should be deposed, who succeeds? The Duke of Bora as next of kin. Therefore you think by becoming his wife to retain your rank as princess, and thus to foil my hopes. That motive, rather than a desire to conciliate the Muscovite faction, urges you to this match."
His statement was perhaps correct, for Barbara did not offer any denial to it.
"But be mindful of this: the duke cares less for you than for your crown. At heart he dislikes you, for he finds his solemn dulness an ill match for your bright wit. I have but to whisper to him that your title is invalid, and he will be the first to demand your deposition. It will not be difficult to prove that you are an impostor. The physicians and nurses who attended the infant days of Princess Natalie are still living. The simple baring of your right shoulder would prove that, whoever you may be, you are not that princess. Your assertion that nevertheless you are her elder and half-sister would be laughed to scorn. Who will believe your word, unsupported by evidence, that the late Prince Thaddeus had contracted an early and secret marriage? The whole affair would be regarded as a plot on the part of Cardinal Ravenna formed to advance the interests of his Church. Barbara Lilieska, I acknowledge you to be the lawful Princess of Czernova, but whenever it shall please me I can compel you to step down from your throne."
Barbara quivered with indignation. She, a princess with the blood of Polish kings in her veins, and at whose word twenty thousand swords would flash from their scabbards, to be threatened by an Italian ecclesiastic! She turned her head towards the armed sentinels slowly pacing the stately terrace of the palace.
"One moment, princess, ere ordering my arrest. I do not venture upon this avowal without safeguarding myself. Listen! There lives at the present moment upon the other side of the frontier—in what town no matter—an individual devoted to my interests. To him I have entrusted the keeping of three sealed packets. So soon as he shall learn of my arrest he will thus act. One packet he will despatch to the Russian Foreign Minister; the second to the Duke of Bora; and with the third he will hasten to the office of the 'Kolokol' newspaper, whose pro-Russian editor, Lipski, will be but too delighted to print the contents of that packet; its publication will cause a stir in Czernova. There are your guards. Call them. Arrest me. Behead me on the spot if you will. But be sure of this: your own downfall will follow within seven days."
Barbara did not call her guards. She said nothing, did nothing.
"Princess, forgive me for using the language of threats; it is with reluctance that I adopt such a course. But—you recognize my power, and you know my love. Your answer?"
"Better the cloister's quiet shade than a throne on such terms."
"It is not the cloister's quiet shade that you will see, but the interior of a Russian fortress. In occupying the throne of Czernova you will be accused of assuming rights the reversion of which belongs to the Czar, inasmuch as he is next heir after the duke. The Czar will see in your usurpation an affront to his dignity. He will demand that you be sent to Russia, there to take your trial. And the cowardly duke will comply. You know how much 'the politician in petticoats' is hated by the Russian ministry, and what justice you are likely to receive at their hands. When the black wall of a Muscovite fortress girdles you round forever," he added in a significant whisper, "when rough soldiers are your jailers, when no cry of yours can penetrate to the outer world, then—then the love of a cardinal even would be a desirable thing."
Barbara could not repress a feeling of horror at the picture suggested by these words.
"If the duke should rule he will rule merely as the vassal of the Czar, and Czernova will become a province of Russia. Therefore, consider well your decision. You ruin not yourself only, but the faithful friends dependent upon you. Zabern, Radzivil, Dorislas, all the ministers whose policy has offended the Czar, will be delivered up to him by the duke. Czernova will be overrun by Cossack soldiery, and placed under martial law. Her young men will be drafted off to serve in the Russian army. The university will be closed, the Catholic Church persecuted. The wailings of Czernova will mount upward to Heaven, but when did Heaven ever listen to the cry of the oppressed? Princess, it is true I require of you a sacrifice, but it is a sacrifice meriting the name of virtue. The fate of a nation hangs upon your answer. How easy for you to save them by conferring happiness upon me!"
He could not have employed an argument more adapted to gain his end than an appeal to the welfare of the people whom she loved; nevertheless, it had altogether failed, as he saw by the sovereign scorn that curved her lips.
"You are master of my secret, but not of me. Though I err in bearing the name of Natalie, I am nevertheless the lawful princess of Czernova; and Heaven, being just, will maintain me in my rights. He sets himself a hard task, cardinal, who proposes to fight against the truth. Reveal my story to the duke—to the Diet, to the whole principality—this very day, if you will. I fear you not. I will do nothing to stop you. I will wait to see whether you will be bold enough to play this traitor's game. And when you have done your worst to destroy the princess, and failed, then beware the vengeance of Zabern; for though you fly to the secret recesses of the Vatican, and cling to the holy robe of Pio Nono himself, Zabern will find and slay you. There is my answer both to your threats and to your lust, for call not your desires by the sacred name of love."
The cardinal gave a mock bow.
"Princess, I will not yet draw the sword against you, confident that time and reflection will bring you wisdom. Reign till your coronation-eve, when I will return to this theme."
His cold smile gave little indication of the volcano of passion that was burning within him. The sight of the distant sentinels alone kept him from seizing and holding Barbara within his arms. Brilliant in youth and loveliness she tortured him; and he resolved to torture in turn, since the means of doing so were at his disposal.
"Ere I take my leave," he said, "let me tell you of an event that took place this morning. Nay, princess, do not turn away. The story will interest you as no other story can."
Something in Ravenna's manner compelled Barbara to pause and face him again.
"Princess, prepare yourself for a surprise. One whom we both thought dead now proves to be living."
Despite her loathing of the cardinal, Barbara found herself forced to utter one word,—
"Who?"
"One whose supposed demise caused you to say that you would forever carry a dead heart within your breast."
The princess gave a great start, and placed her hand upon her side. With a foreboding of what was to come she stood immovable, mute, scarcely breathing.
"Isola Sacra was certainly submerged. We both saw that. But ere it sank the captive must have escaped, for a young Englishman calling himself Paul Cressingham Woodville put up last evening at the Hôtel de Varsovie."
Barbara was powerless to speak, but the look in her eyes was a language that plainly said, "Is it the same?"
The cardinal understood her silent question.
"The same. For verification I sent to the Police Bureau where strangers register themselves. These little particulars on his carte de séjour leave no doubt on the matter."
Here Ravenna drew forth a paper and began reading from it. "'Name: Paul Woodville, formerly Paul Cressingham. Age: twenty-seven. Nationality: English. Residence: Oriel Hall, Kent, England. Religion: Anglican Church. Calling: Captain in the Twenty-fourth Kentish, a cavalry regiment. Object in visiting Czernova: The pleasure of travelling,' Humph! was that the motive that drew him here? Princess, do you mark the name Woodville? Your Dalmatian hero has been distinguishing himself, for he is none other than the Englishman who conducted the defence of Tajapore."
Emotion caused Barbara to sink upon a marble seat. She knew that Ravenna was speaking, but she heard not his words. She was oblivious of everything, but the one overwhelming thought that Paul was alive, and at that very moment within her own city of Slavowitz!
Her feelings were eloquently testified by the new and radiant light that came over her face, by her lips parted in an unconscious smile, by her bosom heaving beneath its foam of white lace. Never had the princess looked so lovely in the cardinal's eyes as now. Lost in a delicious daze she was quite forgetful of his presence, as he himself perceived, for two or three questions addressed to her evoked no recognition.
Her pleasure struck a pang to his jealous heart. What would he not have given to be the cause of such transfiguration? But though he could not create such joy, he could extinguish it, and would; and observing that Barbara was awaking from her day-dream, and endeavoring to fix her attention upon him, he proceeded,—
"Captain Woodville—to call him by his new name—saw you this morning from the balcony of the Hôtel de Varsovie. Knowing that you cannot really be Natalie Lilieska he will, of course, conclude that you are an impostor."
How could Paul, ignorant of her true history, come to any other conclusion? The thought sent a sudden chill to her warm feelings.
"These Englishmen pride themselves on their blunt honesty and plain dealing. What will he think when he sees that in the sacred matter of religion you are acting the hypocrite, in secret a Catholic, yet for the sake of self-interest publicly posing as a Greek!"
Yes; it was true. In name and religion she was a living lie. How she must have fallen in Paul's esteem! Her quickly changing expression gave pleasure to the cardinal.
"He saw the duke publicly kiss your hand, and must thus have learned of your betrothal. Inquiries as to Bora's character must cause him to marvel at the taste which selects this Scythian barbarian for your consort."
Every word went, as intended, to Barbara's heart. Paul, not knowing that she had believed him dead, must have thought himself forgotten by her. How she longed to see him, to explain the difficulties of her position, to set matters right between them!
Regardless of what court officials might think, she would send an equerry this same day to the Hôtel de Varsovie with a message to the effect that the Princess of Czernova was desirous of an interview with Captain Paul Woodville.
"If it be sweet to learn that the dear friends whom we have long thought dead are alive, how bitter it must be to lose them again, ere we can have the opportunity of seeing them!"
"What do you mean?"
Barbara did not speak these words. The question was put by the eager, fearful look of her eyes.
"It seems that the duke and Captain Woodville—I crave your Highness's pardon, Captain Woodville and the duke—met by chance on the balcony of the Hôtel de Varsovie. A sapphire seal worn by the Englishman attracted the notice of the duke, inasmuch as he recognized it as a former gift of his to the Princess Natalie. The Englishman refused to state how he came by its possession, with the result that there is to be a duel over the matter."
"Mother of God!"
But for her dark arched eyebrows and dusky glowing eyes, the princess's face might have been taken for a piece of white sculpture.
"It is to be no mock contest. They fight with sabres and to the death."
"They shall not fight," gasped Barbara, finding her voice at last. "I shall send a troop to the Ducal Palace to arrest Bora—now—at once."
"Too late! princess," answered Ravenna in a mocking voice. "They fight this very day, within an hour from now. The combatants are already on their way to the rendezvous in the Red Forest. The swiftest horse of the Ukraine could not reach the spot in time for you to stay the duel. And granting that you should arrive in time you would be powerless; for, in order to avoid breaking the Czernovese law, Ostrova, the duke's second, has fixed the place of combat on the Russian side of the frontier, where your authority does not extend."
White as the princess's face was it grew whiter still as Ravenna proceeded in a fierce exultant tone,—
"You know the duke's reputation as a beau sabreur. Thirty duels, and never a wound has he received in any one of them; that is his record. In the Czernovese army are twenty thousand men, not one of whom, unless he wish for death, dares face the duke's deadly blade. You yourself have witnessed his feats in the salle d'armes; you have seen him disarm in swift succession the best fencers among your officers.—Zabern, Dorislas, Miroslav! Who can stand before the duke?"
He paused for a moment, and then, pointing to the sun shimmering through the leaves of the linden-trees, he added,—
"Princess, ere that golden orb has set, your English hero will be lying dead upon the turf, slain by the hand of the man whom you would make your husband."
Barbara heard no more. With a cry of "O Paul, Paul,"—a cry in which love and grief were intermingled,—she slid from her seat, and lay as one dead at the feet of the cardinal.
The afternoon was drawing to a close as Paul Woodville and Noel Trevisa made their way to the frontiers of Czernova.
From Slavowitz they had driven in a troika or three-horse car, adopting by preconcerted arrangement a route different from that taken by Bora and his second.
Having put up their vehicle at a roadside hostelry, Trevisa conducted his friend to the place of assignation, the path lying through a series of charming woodland glades, collectively known as the Red Forest.
"Grand pines!" remarked Paul, admiring the erect and stately columns presented by these trees.
"The haunt of wolves in winter," observed Trevisa. "They sometimes devour the Russian sentinels. Who henceforth shall say that a wolf has not its uses?"
Following the beaten track, they came to an extensive clearing.
"The frontier line runs somewhere through this glade. Yes; there is the boundary mark."
Trevisa directed Paul's attention to an upright rectangular block of stone, the sides of which fronted the four cardinal points. On the northern face, deeply cut, were the letters R-U-S-S-I-A, and on the southern face C-Z-E-R-N-O-V-A.
"We are now breathing the air of despotism," remarked Trevisa, as they left the stone in their rear, "and unless we keep a lookout we may experience the effects of it in a shot fired at us by some hidden sentinel."
"What? Is it the fashion of Russian sentries to take pot-shots at passing strangers?"
"Occasionally; at least, on this frontier. It is purposely done to provoke hostilities from Czernova. Ah! there's a sentry. I thought we shouldn't advance far without meeting one."
There under the shadow of the trees, about a hundred yards distant, sitting on horseback with lance erect, was a wild-looking Cossack, with Hessian boots, red breeches, and a small red turban-shaped cap. He was chanting the Russian anthem, and his voice, mellowed by the distance, had a strange plaintive effect.
The sight of this equestrian was well calculated to stir reflection in Paul's mind.
Far, far away on the icy shores of Kamchatka other Russian sentinels were keeping watch. The distance between the two frontiers was over six thousand miles as the crow flies.
And this empire, so colossal in extent, the very incarnation of military force, was threatening little Czernova, Barbara's own principality! There was no hope of her emerging victorious from the contest. The very idea was insanity. She would be but as an infant struggling in the hands of a giant. And the nations of Europe would look on unmoved, as they have often looked on and condoned the conquest of the Weak by the Strong. There was none to pity or help her. And as Paul thought of all this his heart grew hot within him. He began to feel something of the spirit that animated the Polish patriots of Czernova.
Suddenly the Cossack sentinel, catching sight of strangers, turned his horse's head in their direction, and lowering his lance, he came on at full speed.
On nearing the two friends he reined in his shaggy steed with such quickness as to throw the animal almost on its haunches.
"Your passport, little fathers?"
"Here is the universal passport, in Russia as elsewhere—cash," replied Trevisa, displaying some rouble-notes. "We come no farther, and are here simply to fight a duel."
"A duel! That's against the law of Russia. The guard-house is but half-a-mile distant among those trees yonder," said the Cossack, indicating the direction with his lance. "The captain is a terrible fellow. If he should come this way he'll order your arrest and mine too."
"Not he. He'll be only too pleased to witness a good fight. Besides, we have rouble-notes for him also. He has his price, I dare be sworn, otherwise he would be a novelty among Muscovites."
The Cossack reflected. A duel was a pleasant thing; a douceur still more pleasant. Why, then, seek to prevent the fight? He would take his chance of discovery at the hands of his captain. So having first looked cautiously round, he stuffed the rouble-notes into his left boot and made no more opposition.
"Let the Czernovese slay each other," he muttered. "The fewer for our Czar to fight when the talked-of war takes place."
"We are first on the field, it seems," remarked Trevisa, referring to his watch. "Hum! five minutes yet to the appointed time."
Paul having presented the Cossack with a cigar, lighted one himself, and paced leisurely to and fro, seemingly far more at ease than his second.
"This duel is a very serious matter," muttered Trevisa.
"One can die but once."
"Just so. If one could die half-a-dozen times the first death would not matter much. I, however, am not anticipating your death, Paul, but the duke's. You may be doing grave hurt to the princess by killing him."
"How so? Have you not said that it would be a good thing if the princess could be released from him?"
"True; but your way of releasing her has its disadvantages. Forget not that the duke is a near kinsman of the Czar, and that at the present time the Czar hath no great love for Czernova. If Bora should fall Nicholas may accuse the Czernovese cabinet of being privy to the death of his kinsman, and with some show of justice, inasmuch as Radzivil, the premier, though cognizant of the coming duel, has taken no steps to prevent it. You perceive my meaning. The Czar might demand an indemnity such as he foreknows that Czernova could not, and would not pay. The result—annexation of the principality."
Paul reflected a moment.
"The duel was to have been à la mort, and I came intending to kill or be killed, but your remark has set the matter in a different light. I cannot retire nor apologize without loss of honor, yet it is equally clear that I must do nothing to the hurt of the princess. There's but one way out of the difficulty: I'll so wound him that he shall not be able to use sword-arm for a month."
"If you can do that—well," replied Trevisa, very much doubting, however, Paul's ability to make good his word, for was not John the Strong the most expert swordsman in Czernova?
It was quite thirty minutes after the appointed time when the Duke of Bora made his appearance attended by his second, Baron Ostrova. They brought no surgeon with them, for Ostrova, in arrogant vein, had declared that his principal had never yet required one; and Trevisa, not to be outdone in bravado, had made the same avowal respecting Paul.
While the duke remained at a little distance his second advanced, gracefully raising his hat to Trevisa.
"Accept our sincere regret. Our vehicle broke down on the way." Then, adopting a somewhat submissive air, and addressing Paul and Trevisa in common, he said,—
"Can we not terminate this little matter amicably? His grace is willing to apologize for his hasty action of this morning."
To do the duke justice, it was not Paul's sword that he feared, but loss of the princess. During the course of the day he had begun to realize the force of Radzivil's words,—that if the affair should come to the knowledge of the princess it might seriously affect the projected marriage.
He would, therefore, swallow his pride, and for the first time in his career as duellist cry off from the combat by making an apology.
"All's well that ends well!" murmured the delighted Trevisa. "You'll accept the amende honorable, Paul?"
But Paul seemed bent on chastising the duke.
"It is pleasant to learn," he said, speaking sufficiently loud for Bora to hear, "that his grace realizes that he has acted like a ruffian. 'Liar' and 'coward' were the epithets he applied to me; his action, a cane-stroke across my cheek. And now does he deem that simply to express regret will be a sufficient satisfaction for an affront offered to the uniform of the Twenty-fourth? Well, I will accept the apology on this condition," continued Paul, breaking a slender sapling from a tree overhead and leisurely stripping off the foliage, "that the duke's cheek shall receive from this wand a stroke similar to that bestowed upon mine. It will be a convincing token of his repentance."
Ostrova, to whom had been committed the charge of bringing the weapons, smiled satirically, and presented two sheathed sabres to Trevisa.
Trevisa first measured the blades, and finding them of equal length next proceeded to test their temper; and then, having made his selection, handed the same to Paul, who in the meantime had doffed his coat and vest and now stood ready for the fray.
The victor in thirty duels, humiliated beyond measure at the rejection of his conciliatory address, did not wait for further preliminaries but snatched the remaining sabre from the hand of Ostrova, and with the fury of a lion darting upon his victim, he flew upon Paul as if purposing to lay him hors de combat at the first brunt.
But scarcely had the heavy sabres clashed together, sparkling in the rays of the setting sun, when there came the command,—
"Let fall your swords in the name of the law."
The words were spoken in a woman's voice,—a voice that sent a thrill to Paul's heart.
Parrying a thrust from the duke, Paul took a swift backward step, and while maintaining his defensive attitude, contrived to glance sideways.
And there, beautiful and pale, and so close to him that he could see into her eyes, was Barbara, breathless as if from hurrying. From what quarter she had so suddenly sprung none present could tell. Complete absorption in the duel had prevented them from hearing her light footfall upon the turf of the woodland.
Paul forgot his guard. He forgot everything. From sheer surprise his sword dropped to the ground.
He looked at her in silence, striving to learn what were her feelings towards him. She gave no token of recognition. Love on her part, if it existed, was veiled at present in sorrowful reproach. In the light of that look how ignoble seemed his desire for vengeance. His glance fell even as his sword had fallen. He had acted, and knowingly acted, in a way calculated to forfeit her esteem.
A death-like stillness fell upon the circle as they perceived that the fair princess of Czernova, sternly hostile to duelling, was present, a spectator of their misdeed. True, she was but one maiden, but that maiden symbolized in her own person all the power of a state.
"Who first proposed this duel? Who issued the challenge?"
"I did, and with reason."
And stalking up to the princess, the Duke of Bora bent his head, and said in a fierce, jealous whisper,—
"Cousin Natalie, how comes yon fellow to be in possession of the seal I gave you?"
The princess stepped backward, and drawing her robe around her with a stately grace, she exclaimed,—
"It ill becomes one of my ministers to be found setting himself above the law. Marshal, conduct your prisoner to the Citadel."
Paul, following the wave of her arm, perceived that she had not come without an escort.
On the Czernovese side of the frontier-stone stood Marshal Zabern with folded arms, outwardly as inscrutable as the sphinx, inwardly delighted at the course taken by events.
Some distance in his rear, drawn up across the woodland path, the narrowness of which did not admit of more than two abreast, was a posse of mounted lancers belonging to the Blue Legion. Fronting these troopers was the vehicle evidently used by the princess in her journey to this spot,—a light, elegant droshky, expressly adapted for swift travelling.
And the Cossack sentinel, likewise noting all this, felt ill at ease. The sound of his bugle would instantly have summoned a party from the Russian guard-house, but as this might have led to the exposure of his own participation in the affair, he refrained from the act, and looked on in silence.
"Marshal, conduct your prisoner to the Citadel."
"You would arrest me?"
There was an emphasis on the last word which was intended to remind the princess that it behoved her to consider who he was. It was clear to her that relying on his kinship to the Czar, he set little store by the law of Czernova. His pitying smile cut the constitutionalist princess to the quick.
"You talk bravely, fair cousin, forgetful in whose territory you now stand. I put myself under the protection of this sentry, the representative of the Czar."
The duke was not mending matters in appealing to the Czar for protection against the law of Czernova.
"O silly duke!" murmured Zabern. "How nicely you are playing into my hands! You have lost the princess by that speech."
The Cossack sentinel, now heartily regretting that he had become compromised by an affair in which the great ones of Czernova were involved, nevertheless at the duke's abjuration rode off to the princess.
"What is this?" he cried, with an air of authority. "Prisoner? No arrest can take place here. Little mother, you are standing on Russian ground; therefore—your passport, signed by the Russian consul at Slavowitz."
"Princesses do not carry passports," replied Barbara disdainfully.
"Then the little mother must retire to her own side of the frontier."
Barbara seemed disposed at first to maintain her ground, but wiser thoughts prevailed.
"You do but your duty," she replied.
And with this she retired, and took her station by the side of Zabern.
"Princess, I commend your celerity," smiled the marshal. "I was five years in getting out of Russia,—you have accomplished it in as many seconds."
Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued,—
"We cannot arrest the duke while he is on Russian ground. Were we to do so, this Cossack would report the matter. In their present mood Russian ministers would gladly seize upon the violation of their territory as a casus belli, and we don't want war at present."
"John Lilieski," said the princess, addressing the duke from her own side of the frontier, "you will either return under guard to Slavowitz, or you will not return at all. Take your choice betwixt imprisonment during my pleasure, or perpetual banishment from Czernova."
This decision from one whom he had been accustomed to regard as his affianced bride completely confounded his grace of Bora. His first surprise over, he proceeded to take counsel with his second. Though they spoke in low tones, Paul nevertheless caught a few words.
"They dare not harm you," said Ostrova, "and you will command more interest, more sympathy, more power as a prisoner in the Citadel than as a hanger-on at the Czar's court."
This argument seemed to decide the duke, for he immediately crossed to the Czernovese side.
"Since you make a voluntary surrender of yourself," said the princess, "declare it aloud that the Russian sentry may hear you."
"Of my own free will I enter the Czernovese territory," said Bora, addressing the Cossack.
"Your sword," said Zabern.
Though not as yet deposed from his command of the army, Bora did not doubt that this would follow, and that Zabern would be his successor. Very bitter, indeed, then, was his smile as he handed the sabre over to the marshal.
"I am curious to learn, fair cousin," he sneered, "the punishment you reserve for my opponent, equally guilty with myself of breaking the law."
"There is your escort to Slavowitz," said Barbara haughtily, pointing to the posse of uhlans.
And Bora, with a dark glance at Paul, walked in the direction indicated.
"For my part," observed Baron Ostrova airily, "I prefer liberty. I shake the dust of Czernova from my feet."
"Forever," decreed the princess.
"Oh, your Highness, your reign will not last so long as that," replied the other, with a peculiar smile, adding to himself, "Your reign, my lady, is but a question of a few weeks."
Taking off his hat, he dropped it to the ground, and bowed so low over it as almost to touch the turf with his fingers, herein imitating an old custom of the Polish serf when addressing his lord.
"I kiss the feet of the dainty Lady Natalie," he said.
Then, picking up his hat, the Baron walked off to a little distance, where he stood watching the sequel.
Paul longed to thrash the fellow for his insolence, but prudently refrained from creating a disturbance in Russian territory.
"Trevisa," said the princess, "in remembrance of your many services I remit the penalty due by law, but," and there was genuine sorrow in her tone, "you lose your secretaryship."
"Your Highness," stammered Trevisa, his whole manner showing how deeply he felt the loss of his office. "Fine. Imprisonment. Any punishment but that."
"The cipher, your Highness," murmured Zabern. "The cipher letter! We cannot do without Trevisa."
"Let me intercede for him," said Paul, bending his knee.
The princess had last heard that voice in the twilight hour by the dark blue sea on the shore of Isola Sacra. The memory of that event came back with a rush that almost stifled her breath.
"His only fault is," pleaded Paul, "that he has been too great a friend."
"To you, but not to our law," she murmured faintly. "My servants must not be law-breakers."
There was a brief interval of silence.
"Your Highness," said Paul, rising to his feet, "I await my sentence."
"You are safe where you stand," she faltered.
Her manner plainly besought him to remain where he was, and thus relieve her from a painful situation.
"I will not take advantage of that."
And by a few steps Paul passed from the jurisdiction of the Czar to that of Barbara.
The look in her eyes was like that of a fawn at bay. Love forbade her to punish Paul, and yet, while meting punishment to others, how, without bringing reproach to herself, could she let him go free?
"Your Highness," intervened Trevisa, "my friend Captain Woodville has received extreme provocation from the duke, and when he accepted the challenge, was ignorant of the Czernovese law relating to duelling."
Barbara had heard the whole story from Zabern as she was whirled along in the droshky from Slavowitz to the frontier. She glanced at the weal that disfigured Paul's cheek, and her anger grew hot against the duke. No! come what might, she would not punish Paul.
"I appeal to the marshal," said Trevisa boldly, "whether he would not have taken to the sword under the like provocation."
"Princess," replied Zabern, "Captain Woodville, as a soldier, had no other course than to maintain the honor of his queen's uniform." The foolish Barbara became jealous at the thought that Paul should owe allegiance to a lady other than herself. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Zabern continued, "Your Highness has authority to imprison the duke, inasmuch as he is your own subject; but you will be exceeding that authority if you venture to arrest an English citizen for an offence committed on Russian ground. Let the Russians themselves see to it."
The princess flashed a quick glance of interrogation at him.
"What would you imply? That the Russians will demand Captain Woodville's extradition?"
"I clearly foresee that they will try to make political capital out of this affair. Be sure that Baron Ostrova will give them his version of it. Always excepting your Highness and myself," continued Zabern with a grim smile, "there is no one upon whom the Russian Government would more willingly lay hands than the Englishman who prevented them from taking the Afghan fortress of Tajapore."
This reference to Paul's bravery brought a glow of pride to Barbara's cheek. A new tie seemed to unite them. While she was contending with Russian intrigue in one part of the world, he had been contending with it in another.