After a brief interval of repose Paul awoke, and had scarcely donned his uniform when a court chamberlain, carrying a silver gilt staff, presented himself with a message to the effect that, "The Princess of Czernova, having learned that the illustrious defender of Tajapore is at the present time within her palace, desires to hold a private interview with him in the White Saloon."
The chamberlain went on to say that though court dress or military uniform wasde rigueurin such interviews, he had been expressly commanded to state that on the present occasion the princess would waive all ceremony.
Having no other attire with him, Paul had of necessity to go to this momentous meeting in his uniform, and accordingly he set off at once with the chamberlain, who on the way ventured to remind him of the etiquette to be observed during the approaching interview: he must stand unless requested to sit; make no observation of his own, but simply reply to the questions addressed him; he must not withdraw till the princess should give the signal, and in withdrawing he must keep his face turned towards her.
All this, and much more, from Silver Staff touched Paul with a sense of humor, when he recalled the sweet and unrestrained intercourse at Castel Nuovo.
On entering the White Saloon Paul perceived Barbaraseated at a table, and pencil in hand, ostensibly occupied in annotating state-papers. She wore a dainty dress of white tulle sparkling with silver embroidery over ivory satin.
She was evidently in a state of nervousness. The pencil trembled within her fingers. She did not glance at Paul, but kept her eyes upon the papers before her.
Now that the chamberlain had withdrawn, she was expecting Paul to come forward with the greeting, "Barbara!" Nay, if the truth must be told, she was longing to be folded in his arms, and to hear again the passionate language which he had addressed to her on that memorable day of their parting.
But to her disappointment Paul seemed as formal as a courtier. With his plumed helmet doffed he stood at the distance prescribed by court etiquette waiting for her to speak.
Quick to interpret his secret thought, she saw that he recognized the existence of a wide gulf between them, a gulf that could be crossed only from her side; if there was to be a renewal of love it was for her to take the initiative.
This attitude on his part, though studiously correct, embarrassed her exceedingly.
"I little thought," she began in a low and faltering voice, "when reading of the brave deeds of one Captain Woodville, that the doer of them was known to me. Captain Cressingham," she continued, reverting to the more familiar name, "for two years I have been under the belief that you perished in that Dalmatian earthquake."
"Your Highness, I have been under a similar belief regarding yourself."
"Knowing, as you do," she continued, aimlessly tracing lines on the paper before her, "that I cannot be the real Princess Natalie, you are perhaps of opinion that I have no right to the throne of Czernova?"
"Princess—no! I will believe anything rather than that you are an usurper or an impostor."
The energy with which he spoke attested the sincerity of his belief.
Now for the first time since his entrance the princess raised her eyes, and their flash of gratitude thrilled Paul.
"Your faith in me is not misplaced, for I am truly the lawful Princess of Czernova, though a strange necessity has compelled me to assume the name of my sister Natalie. You shall have the story anon, Captain Cressingham," she continued, in a curiously labored voice, as if the choice of words were a difficulty, "we were parted in a very strange way. You will perhaps have guessed that I was carried off by the orders of Cardinal Ravenna, who acted, however, under the authority of my father, Prince Thaddeus.
"They justified the secret abduction on the ground that in my new sphere it would be wise, nay absolutely necessary, to break entirely with the past. But for my own part," added the princess softly, and with the color mantling her cheek, "I do not see the necessity for ignoring all former ties."
"Your Highness has not forgotten the days spent at Castel Nuovo?"
"No, nor that day in Isola Sacra. Captain Cressingham, I am a Lilieska, and the herald will tell you that the motto of the House of Lilieski is 'Keep to troth.'"
Paul caught his breath at these words, the significance of which was not to be mistaken.
That the lovely convent maiden should care for such an unworthy fellow as himself had been a marvel to him two years previously; but that now, when a princess, and capable of forming a brilliant alliance with king or noble, she should still adhere to him, was more marvellous still.
Barbara, no longer able to endure this state of tension,rose to her feet, and with unsteady step moved towards Paul.
"When the suitor is of inferior rank," she said with a strange catch in her voice, "court etiquette permits a princess to make the first advance in love. Thus, then, do I avail myself of the privilege. Paul," she continued, taking his hands in her own, and striving to look into his averted face, "have you forgotten your words to me on that sunny day in the old Greek temple? Day and night for two years I have never ceased to think of them. Yes, though you may reproach me with the name of Bora, your image has never been absent from my mind. Does my new rank embarrass you? To you I am the same Barbara now as I was then. I long to lay aside my state; to wander again through the pine-woods of Dalmatia; to handle an oar on the blue Adriatic as on that day when we were so cruelly parted. Ah, heaven! how cold, how silent you are! Why do you turn away your eyes? Paul, look at me," she entreated wistfully.
Paul, knowing full well that her attachment to him was certain to create confusion in Czernovese politics, had come fully prepared to sacrifice his own happiness to her interests. But this appeal on her part overcame him. He could not resist the temptation presented by the beautiful face so close to his own. Moved by a sudden impulse, he clasped her passionately in his arms.
"Oh! this cannot be," he murmured a moment afterwards. "It is madness."
"Then let me be mad," she said with a low sweet laugh as she clung to him.
"You are a princess, and I am merely a military officer."
"And where would the princess now be but for the officer who found her wandering in the wild-wood?"
"Princess—Barbara—I love you—"
"I have been waiting for those words, Paul."
"I love you—how deeply no words of mine can tell; but when I think of the difference in our rank—"
"But you must not think of it, Paul," she interrupted, still within the circle of his arms, and placing her finger with a witching air on his lip.
"It must be that we part. The law of Czernova forbids our union."
"The Diet shall repeal that law."
"Your ministers, your nobility, your people will never tolerate an untitled Englishman."
"I am ruler in Czernova," she answered proudly. "No one shall dictate to me as to my choice of a consort."
"The Duke of Bora—what of him?" said Paul, with difficulty pronouncing the name that had become doubly hateful to him.
Barbara's eyes drooped. She hid her face on his breast.
"Forgive me, Paul. Do not reproach me with his name. Remember that I thought you dead. I have never forgotten you, nor ceased to love your memory. It was political necessity that drove me to the arms of Bora. On my coming here from Dalmatia in the character of Princess Natalie, I was compelled by therôleI had assumed to receive the addresses of the duke, addresses which I at heart loathed. It had been my intention to break with him ultimately; but of late, since I have been threatened with deposition by Cardinal Ravenna,—yes, deposition," she repeated with flashing eyes,—"I have weakly thought of marrying the duke; for inasmuch as he is the heir-apparent I should thus ensure my rank, if not my power, as princess. But that idea is gone now; I cast it from me forever."
"But why? Is not the necessity for conciliating the duke as great to-day as yesterday?"
"No; for if I should have lost my crown I should have lost the one thing I held most dear; if I lose it now—"
She paused in her utterance.
"Yes, if you should lose it now—?"
"Have I not you?" she answered with a soft pressure of her arms. Paul would have deserved instant knouting if he had not kissed the princess for that saying. Then, becoming grave again he said,—
"You say the cardinal threatens you with deposition? Why this hostility on his part?"
"Because I will not dance to his piping."
"And by adhering to me you will increase his hostility, since with him I shall not be apersona gratissima."
"He cannot ruin me without ruining himself, and ambition will cause him to pause ere doing that."
"But," said the puzzled Paul, "since you are the daughter of Prince Thaddeus, how is it possible for him to dethrone you, and why is it necessary that you should personate the Princess Natalie?"
All this time Barbara had been standing clasped within Paul's arms; but now, taking him by the hand, she led him to a seat, and sat down beside him.
"The story of my life, as far as it was known to me, I told you at Isola Sacra. Let me now supplement it with details which I have since learned."
The following is a brief outline of Barbara's narration.
The late Prince Thaddeus had in youth contracted a marriage with a young English lady named Hilda Tressilian, who lived in the neighborhood of Warsaw. Thaddeus, aware that his father would be averse to this match, kept it a secret, visiting his wife at intervals. During his absence in Czernova Hilda died suddenly, and was buried ere the prince had time to gaze upon her lifeless form.
On reaching the scene of her death, Thaddeus learned that there had been a daughter still-born, the truth being that the infant was in reality alive, Hilda's servants having been bribed to relate this falsehood by Pasqual Ravenna, at that time a youthful priest of ambitious views.His object was to train the child in the Catholic faith,—Thaddeus was a Greek,—and ultimately to restore her to her rightful dignity as Princess of Czernova; the interests of the Latin Church would be thereby advanced. And for eighteen years Ravenna, while rising from one ecclesiastical dignity to another, never lost sight of this scheme; and, when he deemed the time ripe, secretly apprised Thaddeus of the existence of Barbara.
That prince, pressed by political necessity, had made a second marriage, the issue of which was an only child, Natalie, born eighteen months after Barbara.
This Natalie, to whom Thaddeus had become passionately attached, was now threatened with exclusion from the throne by the existence of her elder half-sister. Thaddeus, suspecting a plot on the part of the cardinal, refused to acknowledge his resuscitated daughter; and for a time the matter remained in abeyance.
Some months later the Princess Natalie, being in a somewhat delicate state of health, was advised by the court physician to take a tour in the countries around the Adriatic; and Thaddeus, prompted either by fear or by some other motive, permitted Cardinal Ravenna to take charge of the princess. Among other places Dalmatia was visited, and here, while at Castel Nuovo, Natalie died.
"In what way?" asked Paul.
"She committed suicide," replied Barbara, in a whisper of awe.
"You have proof of this?"
"I have my father's word. He had come to Dalmatia purposely to see Natalie, and was in the neighborhood of Castel Nuovo at the time of the tragedy. He was at once sent for. Oh! no, there was nothing suspicious in her death," continued Barbara, observant of the misgiving expressed on Paul's face. "Do you think that my father, who loved Natalie so dearly, would have connived at a crime?"
Paul considered it not at all unlikely that Thaddeus had been deceived by the cardinal. He refrained, however, from expressing his doubts.
"In what way did she commit suicide?"
"She stabbed herself before any one could prevent her. My father had the story from Lambro and Jacintha, who, as well as the cardinal, were eye-witnesses of the deed."
Paul was of opinion that the cardinal who had bribed servants to utter the falsehood of Barbara's death would certainly employ the like expedient where his own guilt was concerned.
The more Paul recalled Jacintha's air of terror and her admission as to the mysterious oath taken on the Holy Sacrament, the more he became convinced that Natalie Lilieska had met her death by foul play. But dead princesses tell no tales; and the disappearance of the two witnesses of the deed, Lambro and Jacintha, in the submergence of Castel Nuovo, made it extremely improbable that the charge would ever be brought home to the cardinal.
It was agreed, Barbara continued, that the scandal of Princess Natalie's suicide must be kept secret. Her body, sealed in a leaden coffin, was concealed beneath the flooring of the cardinal's study at Castel Nuovo, to be removed at a convenient opportunity to the princely vault at Slavowitz. That opportunity never came, and the waves of the Adriatic now flowed over the body of the Princess Natalie.
It was clear that unless Thaddeus consented to recognize the convent-maiden as his daughter, the crown of Czernova would devolve upon one whom he personally disliked, namely, upon Bora, though Natalie herself had accepted the duke's addresses with pleasure.
Accordingly, Thaddeus, accompanied by the cardinal, set off for the convent of the Holy Sacrament, to see the daughter whom he had never yet seen. On his arrival,however, he learned with dismay that Barbara had fled the day previously.
Many weeks were spent by the prince and the cardinal in searching for her in the neighboring province and Bosnia. They had been led into this region by a story to the effect that she had been seen journeying in a caravan of gypsies.
Disappointed in their quest, Thaddeus and Ravenna returned to Castel Nuovo, arriving there by a singular chance on the very day that Paul and Barbara had chosen for their excursion to Isola Sacra. They instantly resolved to send over a band of men for the purpose of carrying off Barbara, and of leaving behind on the island the dangerous young Englishman who was unknowingly wooing a princess.
Their plan succeeded.
Fortunately, Barbara and her abductors did not pass that night at Castel Nuovo. In the mist the boat was carried by the current some miles lower down the coast; and captors and captive lodged at an inn which remained unaffected by the earthquake that had devastated the rest of Dalmatia.
Barbara's passion of grief and indignation at being torn from Paul was so violent, that the prince and the cardinal had no other course than to promise that she should have her own way as regarded the young Englishman. But next morning, to the despair of Barbara, the relief of Thaddeus, and the secret joy of Ravenna, it was seen that Isola Sacra had disappeared beneath the waves. It was naturally concluded that Paul had gone down with it.
Grief-stricken at this ending of her love-dream, Barbara was more disposed to return to the convent and assume the veil of a nun than to accept the prospective crown of Czernova; but finally she was persuaded to this latter course by Thaddeus, who, convinced now that Barbarawas indeed his daughter, displayed all a father's tenderness.
There would be a difficulty, however, in persuading the Czernovese people to accept as the daughter of their prince a maiden of whom they had never before heard.
Now it so happened that the church in which Thaddeus's marriage with Hilda Tressilian had taken place had been subsequently destroyed by fire, and with it the documentary evidence tending to prove Barbara's identity and legitimacy.
Thaddeus was thus unable to establish her relationship to himself. The Diet might be pardoned for refusing to take his bare word as proof. Bora, too, would loudly declare that Barbara was a supposititious child brought forward to deprive him of the throne.
In view, therefore, of her marvellous resemblance to Natalie, it was decided by the prince and the cardinal that Barbara should lose her own identity and should personate the late princess.
This Barbara had done, and with such art and tact that not even Bora suspected the pardonable, if not altogether innocent manœuvre by which she had contrived to secure her rights.
"With the exception of yourself," said Barbara in conclusion, "the cardinal is the sole depositary of my secret, for not even to Zabern, my confidant in most things, have I revealed it. Now you understand the power which the cardinal professes to wield over me, and why he insolently presumes to menace me with deposition. But he shall not succeed. Zabern is my hope. Zabern, crafty and subtle, will find a way of defeating the cardinal's machinations; and then," she murmured, "and then—he shall regret his threat to dethrone the Princess of Czernova."
Barbara, menaced on the one side by the cardinal andon the other by the Czar, had not a very firm hold on her throne, at least in Paul's judgment; and now by her attachment to himself she was still further imperilling her position. But he ceased to argue the matter. Any man with those lovely arms around him might be pardoned for shutting his eyes to the future.
"And so your mother was an Englishwoman?" he remarked, seeing in that fact a possible explanation of Barbara's pro-Anglian tastes.
"Yes, I am half English," she replied, "and I am glad for your sake that I am such. You have not told any one of our prior meeting in Dalmatia?"
"I have kept it a secret."
"Let it remain such. And our love, too, must be kept secret,—at least, for a time," she added with a sigh, for she loved open dealing, and the hiding of her real faith, together with the assumption of her sister's name, had never ceased to be a source of pain.
"How happily we sit here," murmured Barbara, "giving no thought to him who is lying dead! You were with Trevisa at the time of his murder; tell me how it happened."
Paul gave an account of Trevisa's death, in itself a sad event, and one rendered still more painful to Barbara by the thought that it had occurred so shortly after his dismissal from his secretaryship. The sorrowful look with which he had received her decision would never fade from her mind. She felt his loss keenly, inasmuch as he had been her friend as well as her amanuensis, and for a long time she sat talking of Trevisa, of his loyalty and his good services.
"I shall require a new secretary," she said. "You, Paul, must fill Trevisa's place. Nay, forgive me for being thus imperious. I speak as if I had the right to your obedience. My commands are for my ministers, not for you."
See how well it becomes you"'See how well it becomes you,' she said, drawing him gently towards a mirror."
"'See how well it becomes you,' she said, drawing him gently towards a mirror."
She slid playfully upon her knees before him, and put her hands together with a demure air.
"May I have you for my secretary?"
Paul, though sometimes given to day-dreams, had certainly never anticipated the time when a fair princess would be kneeling at his feet. He attempted to raise her.
"I will not rise till you grant my request."
No post could be more acceptable to Paul than this secretaryship, since he would thus live in daily companionship with Barbara; and, moreover, the handling of her correspondence would initiate him into the secrets of that fascinating subject, European diplomacy.
"Are you won over yet?" she asked.
"Who may gainsay a princess?" said Paul. "But are you certain that my appointment will not give offence?"
"I reign over a divided realm. If I appoint a Pole I shall have the Muscovites against me; if I appoint a Muscovite I shall have the Poles against me. Therefore I will choose my secretary from neither party."
"In order to unite both against you," smiled Paul. "But I fear, Barbara, that I am ill-qualified for the post."
"So much the better, Paul, for it will be charming to be your instructress," she replied, delighted that he had accepted the appointment. "What will your sovereign say at losing a brave soldier?"
"The princess is now my sovereign."
"Nay, not your sovereign, Paul, but your equal."
She rose and walked to a buhl table on which rested a golden diadem, and returning with it, she placed it playfully upon his head.
"See how well it becomes you," she said, drawing him gently towards a mirror. "There! every inch a prince."
Paul smiled oddly at his reflection in the glass. He to wear the crown of Czernova! The idea seemed too fantastic to be entertained. For the last four and twentyhours he seemed to have been playing arôlein some romantic opera rather than to have been living in the world of reality.
He put the diadem aside.
"It is not a crown I want, Barbara, but your own sweet self."
"And you have me, Paul," she said, kissing him affectionately. "Nothing but death shall part us. And now," she continued, quitting his arms with reluctance, "we must put on our masks and play our parts, for I am about to summon the chamberlain."
On the appearance of Silver Staff, Barbara said,—
"Call the marshal to our presence."
Zabern was soon found. On entering he glanced keenly at Paul's face as if expecting to gain from it some idea of the character of his long interview with the princess; but Paul, when he chose, could be as inscrutable as Zabern himself, and his face revealed nothing.
"What news of Russakoff?" asked the princess.
"Your Highness, I regret to say that the spy is still at large."
"The ruffians of Russograd, who slew Trevisa because he was an Englishman and loyal to me, shall find that they have gained little by their deed, for I herewith replace him by an Englishman equally as loyal. Marshal, my new secretary."
Zabern bowed and answered like a courtier.
"No appointment could give the cabinet and the Diet greater pleasure," he replied, knowing that he was committing himself to a doubtful statement.
"It is a matter in which the cabinet and the Diet have no concern," replied Barbara with a touch of hauteur in her voice.
"Your Highness, Miroslav is without, charged with a question from the Duke of Bora."
"What says that law-breaker?"
"His grace is desirous of learning from the princess how long his detention is to last."
"Till the mark on my secretary's cheek shall have disappeared. If his grace be dissatisfied with our justice, it is open to him to appeal to the law-courts of Czernova, whose sentence he will find considerably less lenient than our own."
"Your Highness, I shall have extreme pleasure in conveying that message to the duke."
On quitting the presence of the princess, Paul and Zabern took their way through the palace gardens, where they were met by two individuals in uniform, whom the marshal introduced to Paul. The more youthful of the two, who had fair hair, blue eyes, and a comely face that seemed to indicate habitual good humor, was Dorislas, and he held the office of Minister of Finance. The other, a somewhat sullen-looking personage, was Miroslav, the governor of the Citadel, "and," added Zabern, "the present guardian of your friend the duke."
"Ah! the duke," said Dorislas to the governor. "I marvel, Miroslav, that you have not yet been called upon to defend your Bastille. What are your friends in Russograd thinking of, that they so tamely submit to the duke's imprisonment?"
"The marshal's placards explain the reason. At the first attempt upon the Citadel the duke is to be brought forth upon the battlements, and summarily shot."
"And therefore," commented Zabern, "it is a pity that they do not make the attempt."
"Well, you know the marshal and his ways by this time," laughed Dorislas, addressing Miroslav. "When to-night you see a wild mob with blackened faces advancing upon the Citadel and crying out for the release of the duke, be sure that Zabern is somewhere among them, disguised and playing the part of chief instigator."
Zabern and his two friends, so it appeared, were on their way to thesalle d'armes, which stood in the centre of the palace gardens. In this hall it was their custom, provided that state affairs were not too pressing, to fence daily. Zabern invited Paul to accompany them.
"And the cipher despatch, marshal?" said the new secretary, who, having Barbara's interests at heart, was desirous of beginning work at once.
"A little fencing on your part will quicken both blood and brain."
So Paul acquiesced, somewhat reluctantly, and while he and the governor of the Citadel strode on in front, Zabern, adopting a more tardy pace, followed in the rear conversing with Dorislas.
"Marshal, what is this mystery?" asked the Finance Minister with a significant glance in Paul's direction. "There is a strange rumor that he and the princess were together in Dalmatia, and that she there presented him with a sapphire seal which had been given to her by the duke himself. Within twelve hours of his coming to Czernova he is challenged to a duel by Bora. Her Highness, on hearing of the affair, flies to rescue the Englishman, sends her affianced husband to prison, but permits the other duellist to go free. And now you bring the amazing news that the princess has made this Woodville her secretary. What is the meaning of it all?"
"You had better ask her Highness," said Zabern dryly, and abruptly changing the subject of conversation, he added: "Did anything of importance take place at the Diet last night?"
"What, marshal! haven't you heard?" cried Dorislas, his face expressing the extreme of amazement.
"Heard? I've heard nothing. I was occupied in searching for that assassin Russakoff till seven this morning, since when I have been asleep. What new folly, then,did you and the rest of the ministry perpetrate in my absence?"
"You know, of course, that the first order of the evening was the notification to the House of the princess's change of faith. Scarcely had Radzivil risen to make his statement, when he was interrupted by Lipski with a sneering remark to the effect that the premier might spare his words, for the Diet knew very well what he was going to say, and that it would have been more becoming on the part of the princess to have taken the House into her confidence earlier, and not to have waited till her hand had been forced by the article contained in his newspaper, the 'Kolokol.'"
"Damn his insolence! And of course the Muscovite crew howled applause? Was Ravenna in his place?"
"No; the cardinal, having been the chief instrument in the princess's conversion, shrank somewhat from facing the wrathful Muscovites last night. He preferred the opera-house."
"The coward! Would that I had been there!"
"What! at the opera? Yes, it was well worth visiting, because—"
"A truce to your fooling. What happened next?"
"After order had been restored—for, of course, Radzivil's statement provoked a devil of a row—Lipski rose and begged leave to bring in a new bill. Lamenting the increased taxation—and you know, marshal, my Budget is devilishly heavy this year—he introduced a measure for the appropriation of all plate, jewels, and money belonging to the conventual establishments throughout Czernova, such wealth to be devoted to the needs of the state."
"Ha!" cried Zabern. "This is nothing else but an attack upon the princess's faith. 'I have become a Catholic,' she avers. 'Then we will plunder your Church,' is, in effect, the Muscovite answer."
"True, marshal; for though the bill affects to treat both creeds, Latin and Greek, alike, yet inasmuch as the Latin convents are numerous and wealthy, while those of the Greek faith are few and comparatively poor—"
"It's a case of 'I'll share my kopek with you, if you'll share your rouble with me,' eh?"
"Just so, marshal. Well, the bill was rushed through its first reading—"
"Fire and brimstone! where, then, was our party with its splendid majority?"
"You forget that Rubini was here last night."
"Who's he?" asked Zabern, whose ignorance of everybody and everything outside the circle of politics was simply astounding.
"Come, marshal, you jest—Rubini, the Italian, the great opera-singer."
"The devil fly away with him! Well?"
"The opera was 'The Bohemian Girl.' Rubini took the part of Thaddeus. It would have brought the tears to your eyes, marshal, to hear him sing, 'When the fair land of Poland was ploughed.'"
"It would—to hear a damnable Italian turning the sorrows of our fatherland into a medium for putting rouble-notes into his pockets. But what has this to do with the Diet?"
"Why, most of those on our side of the House went to hear Rubini."
"Including a simpleton named Dorislas. And so Lipski and his Muscovite crew took advantage of the emptiness of the benches on the Right to spring this new bill upon the Diet. But, sword of St. Michael, didn't Radzivil send Opalinski to the opera-house to summon away the absentee fools?"
"He did, with this result. When Opalinski arrived Rubini was singing, and our whip became so entranced that he quite forgot the errand on which he had come, till—tillit was too late. When our fellows came trooping back they were met with derisive laughter from the Left."
"The bill had already passed its first reading?"
"Precisely, marshal. But that's not all. Lipski had likewise proposed that, pending the issue of this infernal bill, the precincts of the monasteries shall be patrolled by the military."
"To prevent the monks from removing their treasures."
"That's the object. The Diet passed the resolution. Radzivil, as servant of the House, was obliged to submit, with the result that to-day there is not a monastery in Czernova that has not bayonets moving round it."
"Including the Convent of the Transfiguration?" asked Zabern.
"Including the Convent of the Transfiguration," answered Dorislas.
Zabern muttered some oaths under his breath. Presently, however, he broke into a grim smile.
"Lipski is a shrewder fellow than I gave him credit for. A clever stroke this on his part—to prevent us from entering that monastery by turning our own bayonets against us."
"Marshal," said Dorislas, looking very grave, "if Lipski's measure should pass—"
"If?" repeated Zabern disdainfully. "We will extinguish it on the second reading."
"Which has been fixed for this day month. Lipski boasts that there are surprises in store for ministers, that there will be numerous defections on our side."
"'Boasts'—that is a good word, Dorislas."
"If that bill should become law, commissioners appointed by the Diet will make a round of the monasteries for the purpose of appropriating their wealth; when they come to the Convent of the Transfiguration they will discover—"
"What we do not wish them to discover. But as the bill has not the remotest chance of passing, we may preserve a serene mind on the matter."
Dorislas said no more. Though he was of an optimistic nature, it was clear from his grave manner that he did not share in Zabern's hopeful views.
The quartette had now reached thesalle d'armes. Over the portico hung the banner of the Lilieskis, which Paul reverently saluted, for was he not honoring Barbara by the act?
"That flag," said Zabern, "shall one day float over a wider area than Czernova."
Passing beneath the portico, they entered a fine and spacious hall, decorated in a style that harmonized with its use. Along the walls were suits of armor, and pictures of duels, tournaments, and battles. The oaken panels were hung with swords, muskets, and pistols, so arranged as to form devices, the favorite one being the arms of Poland.
"Whenever a man is mentioned to me for promotion," remarked Zabern, "I always bring him here for a bout. Ten minutes' fencing will give me a better idea of his character than a month's investigation."
Paul, in view of his recent appointment, wondered whether this remark was intended for application to himself.
Among the Czernovese nobles and military officers assembled in this hall was Count Radzivil, occupied in a fencing-bout. In Paul's eyes the sight of the gray-headed premier of seventy parrying and lunging with all the ardor of a boy of seventeen was significant of much. It seemed like a preparation for more serious work in the near future.
What surprised Paul still more was a bevy of youthful ladies fencing with each other at the far end of the hall; and of this number was Katina, engaged in spirited contestwith her sister Juliska, a maiden so pretty that a man must have had the insensibility of a stone not to have wished for a kiss.
All ceased their play upon the entering of Zabern, who in a brief and graceful speech introduced Paul to the assembly as the princess's new secretary.
The Englishman who had conducted the famous defence of Tajapore could not fail to be a person of interest,—an interest enhanced by the fact that he had not shrunk from facing in duel the champion swordsman of Czernova.
Curious glances were interchanged, both among the ladies and likewise among the gentlemen, the meaning of which was laughingly explained by Zabern.
"The truth is, Captain Woodville, we are hoping to see a little English sword-play, in order that we may know who is to be congratulated by the princess's intervention yesterday,—yourself or the duke."
Paul modestly professed himself willing to give a display of his skill if any one would come forward to meet him.
"We have here," continued Zabern, "the six best fencers in Czernova after the duke. If you can defeat any of these we shall be able to form some notion as to how he would have fared at your hands."
The six champions in order of merit were adjudged as follows:—Firstly, Zabern, the Warden of the Charter; secondly, Miroslav, the governor of the Citadel; next, Dorislas, the Minister of Finance; then Count Radzivil, the Premier; Brunowski, the President of the Diet, followed; and, lastly, came Nikita the trooper.
"And," whispered Zabern to Paul, "if we were to choose a seventh it would not be a man but a woman, and she none other than Katina."
Paul bowed to the six men, and expressed his readiness to meet in fencing-bout any one of the number, or all inturn; and taking up a fencing-blade, a blunt sabre with its point topped by a button, he stood prepared to make good his words.
Across the middle of the hall upon the oaken flooring ran a silver line to which the opposing fencers were required to apply their right foot; they might step over this mark if they chose, but to recede from it by so little as an inch was counted for defeat.
As Paul declined to nominate an antagonist there was a slight argument on the part of the six as to the one who should first respond.
After some hesitation Count Radzivil stepped forward. "I fear I am too highly appraised," he modestly remarked, "when I am placed among the seven best fencers in Czernova."
All drew near to witness the contest. A double ring was immediately formed, the ladies being seated in a circle with the gentlemen standing in their rear, the placing of the chairs having naturally afforded opportunity for some pretty pieces of gallantry.
Paul was secretly conscious that though Zabern with Katina and Juliska might regard him favorably, he did not possess the sympathy of the rest of the persons present, who resented the unaccountable act of their princess in appointing as her secretary one who was not only a foreigner but a complete stranger to the principality. Were there no loyal Czernovese from whom her choice might have been made?
Paul knew, too, that among those who stood around were some who bore the proudest names in Polish history; he himself had neither title nor long genealogy, but if there be an order of nobility founded upon superiority in swordsmanship he determined to show that he was a member of that order, and that it would not be well for any man to put a slight upon him, because of the favor shown him by the princess.
On finding himself engaged in a contest with the premier Paul felt some mortification at being pitted against one so aged; but a few moments' play convinced him that Radzivil's arm had lost little of its youthful strength, or of its suppleness and dexterity. Paul, however, was decidedly the superior; and, within the space of five minutes he succeeded in disarming the count, whose blade flying through the air would have struck Katina, had she not adroitly warded it off with her own fencing-foil.
Zabern, who had watched Paul with eyes that had hardly winked once, seemed pleased with the result.
"An accident!" commented Dorislas, really believing the premier to have been the superior of the two.
He himself was the next to engage, and again Zabern watched every motion of Paul with unwinking eyes.
As a swordsman Dorislas excelled Radzivil; but, heated with a desire to vindicate the honor of Czernova, which he conceived had suffered at the hands of the premier, he became rash, was more disposed to attack than to guard, and the second contest terminated in less time than the first by the button of Paul's sabre coming full tilt against the breast of the Finance Minister.
"Fairly pinked!" said Zabern, evidently more pleased than before. "No accident this time."
The expression of surprise and bewilderment on the face of Dorislas at a result so little anticipated by himself was so comically pathetic that the spectators could not refrain from laughter.
"You were a dead man, Dorislas, had that been a real duel," they cried.
Paul was beginning to rise in their esteem.
Miroslav next ventured to try his hand, and once more Zabern became so attentive that one might almost have fancied his own life hung upon the issue.
Profiting by the lesson of Dorislas' rashness the governorof the Citadel commenced in a spirit of coolness and watchfulness,—a spirit that quickly evaporated when he found himself met at every point. He gave more trouble than his predecessors, but in the end Paul succeeded in twisting the weapon from his hand.
Zabern's pleasure increased.
"Good luck, not science," cried Miroslav, hotly, "I defy you to repeat that trick, Captain Woodville. I must have a second bout."
This demand was not allowed by Zabern, though Paul himself good-naturedly offered to grant it.
"Miroslav seems in savage mood to-day," whispered a fair lady to the cavalier who was bending over her.
"He suffered a prisoner to escape yesterday," replied her partner, "and as a consequence he had amauvais quart d'heurewith the princess this morning.Hinc illæ lacrimæ."
"Captain Woodville ought now to give his arm a rest," cried Katina.
But Paul, perceiving the favorable impression that he was making, expressed his readiness to proceed without delay.
"I am now to be your opponent," said Zabern, taking up a fencing-blade in his left and only hand, "and I warn you, Captain Woodville, to be careful."
This caution was not without its need. Zabern was considered by those best qualified to judge the second swordsman in Czernova, and Paul quickly found that he had met an opponent nearly equal, if not equal, to himself. The marshal had an arm of steel; as a warrior who had faced the charge of bayonets on many a battle-field he was not likely to become nervous in a mock-contest. Cool and wary, after a few preliminary passes designed to test the other's skill, Zabern seemed content to remain for the most part on the defensive, watching his opportunity. Paul, conscious of the marshal's dexterity, wasdisposed to do the same; and hence this fourth bout appeared somewhat tame when contrasted with the spirited and dashing style of the preceding contests. It promised to prove indefinitely long, till on a sudden Zabern cried,—
"Hold, I have felt enough to know that I am your inferior, and as such, Captain Woodville, I lower my sword to you."
Which he did in graceful fashion, and, oddly enough, seeming to be extremely pleased over this acknowledgment of defeat.
"You would not have to make such confession, marshal," said Paul, "if you could recover the good hand you left behind in Russia."
He turned to glance at his two remaining opponents,—Brunowski and Nikita.
"If the marshal, the best of us all, admits himself beaten," said the President of the Diet, "of what use is it for me to try?"
The trooper murmured something to the like effect.
"Give me leave," said Paul, "to retire from this silver line and to move about freely, and I will meet my two remaining opponents together."
"That were to take an unfair advantage of a man," said Brunowski, resenting Paul's proposal as a slight upon his swordsmanship.
"Fair or unfair," growled Zabern, "step forward, both of you, and let us see whether Captain Woodville can do it. If you deem his word a boast, prove it to be such."
The ladies, too, curiously eager to witness fresh proofs of Paul's skill, added their voices to Zabern's, and thus adjured the two men came forward and faced Paul.
As plenty of space would be required for the coming bout, the ladies arose, the chairs were removed, and a wide circuit formed.
"A thousand roubles to a hundred that the Englishmansucceeds," said Zabern to Dorislas, who seeing confidence written large on the marshal's face, declined the wager.
This fifth contest formed a brilliant finale.
Smarting under what they considered contemptuous disparagement, and eager to punish the vanity of the Englishman, Brunowski and Nikita pressed hard upon Paul. Each was no mean fencer, though much inferior to Zabern, and Paul was quickly compelled to retreat from the silver line upon which he had at first planted himself. The previous work seemed child's play when compared with this. The interchange of cut and thrust was so swift that the eyes of the spectators failed to follow the dazzling motions of the weapons. Despite their endeavors the two men failed to touch Paul, who at last saw his opportunity. With one powerful stroke he shivered Nikita's blade to fragments, and almost simultaneously he planted the button of his sabre upon Brunowski's breast.
The members of the assembly looked at one another in breathless wonder. Among a people who, like the Czernovese, retain much of the spirit of the feudal age, he is most in esteem who is best able to defend himself. In one sense, therefore, Paul was the foremost man in the principality. The resentment previously felt against him had now changed to unalloyed admiration.
"Such swordsmanship was never seen in Czernova," cried Juliska.
"Ten thousand devils!" muttered Zabern to himself. "Why did her Highness intervene in the duel yesterday?"
And then aloud he added,—
"Ladies and lords, we must all admit that his grace of Bora has much reason to be grateful to the princess."
No one ventured to controvert this statement.
Zabern's eyes twinkled with secret satisfaction.
"Marshal," whispered Juliska. "You have some plan in your head. You have been trying an experiment, Iknow you have. Come, tell me. Of what are you thinking?"
"That the princess's coronation-day will be a very exciting time," replied Zabern, oracularly.
And this was the only answer she could draw from the smiling marshal.
"Beaten! The whole six!" cried Katina in a voice of grief. "Shame upon Czernova! Captain Woodville will have but a poor opinion of us. Let us show, however, that we can shoot if we cannot fence."
With this Katina directed one of the attendants to hang a square white-painted board upon the wall at one end of the hall. Then taking her station at the other end with a supply of loaded revolvers, she proceeded to aim at the distant board, the shots succeeding each other with a rapidity that scarcely left an interval of silence.
The result of this firing was to cause a large oval to appear upon the surface of the board. The revolvers having been reloaded, Katina resumed her shooting. Now within the oval lines and curves began to appear, the whole assuming the outline of a human countenance, and that so well executed as to be clearly recognizable by those acquainted with the original.
"Orloff, the governor-general of Warsaw," cried several voices in unison.
"Czernova will never lack a good tirailleur so long as Katina Ludovska be living," said Zabern, adding in a lower tone, "why have you learned to shoot so well?"
"Can you ask?" she replied in a fierce whisper. "Against the day of my meeting with Orloff. Can any one beat that shooting?" she added aloud, with an invitatory glance at Paul, who smiled a negative.
A shout of applause went up in favor of Katina, who was considered to have redeemed the honor of Czernova.
"Ah! why were you not born a Pole?" said Juliska, addressing Paul.
"May I not become one?"
"Then shall you be a better Pole than any of us," said Katina, "for whereas we are such by accident of birth, you will be such by freedom of choice."
"Well said, Katina," observed Zabern. "And never was there one whom I more willingly admit to Czernovese citizenship. But Captain Woodville," he added, thoughtfully, "it will be well if you remain a British subject for a few more days. Why, the sequel will show."
And Paul, believing that Zabern did not speak without good reason, assented to the delay.
There was no more fencing in thesalle d'armesthat day. The members shrank from displaying their inferior powers before such an expert as Paul. The assembly broke up into little groups.
"And how fares our ducal prisoner?" asked Radzivil, addressing the governor of the Citadel.
"In somewhat gloomy mood," answered Miroslav. "He spends his time chiefly in drinking old Rhenish, and in muttering to himself. By the way, he did a very peculiar act immediately after entering the Citadel last evening."
"Ha!" exclaimed Zabern, catching at this. "What was the act?"
"You know, marshal, it is our rule to search all prisoners on their entering,—a routine from which we did not except even his grace."
"And what did you discover?"
"Upon his person—nothing; that is, nothing of consequence. But a few minutes afterwards a soldier caught sight of the remains of a book burning upon a fire that was close by."
"Flung there by the duke?"
"Without doubt. The mystery is how he contrived to do it without our knowledge, inasmuch as there were several persons standing by."
"You recovered the book from the flames?"
"We attempted to remove it with the tongs, but the thing fell to pieces; the pages were consumed; nothing but the leather cover remained, and that all charred; upon it we could just discern the title."
"And that was—?"
"'The Plays of Æschylus.' Now why should the duke desire to destroy his copy of the Greek poet?"
"He had a motive, I warrant, and that a powerful one. I wish, Miroslav, you had secured the volume in time. Æschylus, Æschylus," repeated Zabern, thoughtfully. "My classical scholarship has long since evaporated, but if I remember rightly," he added, his countenance suddenly lighting up with a new idea, "Æschylus wrote a play called 'The Furies.'"
"True, marshal," replied Paul. "'The Eumenides' or 'The Furies.'"
Zabern, with excitement gleaming in his face, drew Paul aside.
"The clew to the cipher despatch!" he whispered. "The last words of our friend Trevisa were 'the furies'!"
Accompanied by Zabern, Paul returned to the palace, where he was met by the court chamberlain, who conducted him to a fine suite of apartments, which by the special command of the princess were assigned to the new secretary.
Supplied by Zabern with the cipher despatch, and by the court librarian with a copy of the "Eumenides," Paul, having first requested to be left to himself, sat down to work out the cryptographic problem.
The paper given to him by the marshal was covered with rows of numerals, separated from each other by dots.
The first eight numbers were as follows,—
6 . 42 . 50 . 37 . 97 . 39 . 65 . 21
What did these figures represent? Certain words in the Greek play? If the sixth word of the "Eumenides," the forty-second, the fiftieth and so forth, were picked out and placed in immediate sequence, would they yield an intelligible sentence?
He tried this method with the above numbers, but the result did not encourage him to proceed.
It was not likely that the writer of the despatch intended to forward such intelligence as: "Of gods and a name a daughter of an art was seated into an oracle."
On reflection Paul perceived the improbability that thenumbers stood for words, inasmuch as the vocabulary of an ancient Greek poet would be insufficient to supply all the terms required by the usages of modern civilization, such, for example, as passport, banknote, or rifle. And to clench the matter, Paul observed that towards the end of the despatch there was the number, .8537. Now the total of words in the "Eumenides" falls considerably short of that sum.
But if all the letters that composed the words of the play were numbered in consecutive order from Π the first to ς the last, then, indeed, the sum total would far exceed 8537.
Paul resolved to test this theory, namely, that 6 was intended to mean the sixth letter in the "Eumenides," 42 the forty-second letter, etc.
Great was his delight when he produced the following result,—
. 6 . 42 . 50. 37 . 97 . 39 . 65 . 21 .
ν ι κ ο λ α ο ς
Nicholas, the name of the reigning Czar!
Proceeding in the same fashion, Paul found that the numbers following those which stood for Nicholas yielded the intelligible wordουναινεται, "assents."
"To what does Nicholas assent?" murmured Paul.
"Let me endeavor to ascertain, since it is quite clear that the key to the cipher is now in my hands."
Obviously his best course would be to go through the "Eumenides" first, marking, say, every tenth letter with its proper consecutive number. This done, the work of decipherment would take but a few minutes.
Paul started on this most monotonous task,—a task that occupied him more than four hours, from the necessity imposed upon him of verifying his enumeration from time to time, for a single error in his calculation wouldhave confused the whole issue. And when at last his copy of the "Eumenides" lay ready figured for use, the misgiving seized him that perhaps, after all, his labor had been in vain.
"Various readings occur in the manuscripts of the 'Eumenides,'" he muttered. "If the writer of this despatch has used a different edition from mine,—Dindorf, Lips.1827,—well, then, lack-a-day!"
Fortunately, however, the result falsified his misgiving.
Once during his calculations the eager Zabern had entered the apartment with the question, "What progress?"
"Return in two hours, and you shall have the solution."
And the marshal had withdrawn, somewhat doubtful of Paul's ability to make good his promise.
However, before the expiration of the two hours Paul had mastered the contents of the document. It was written in Greek, and, as the marshal's knowledge of that language was extremely limited, Paul spent some time in endeavoring to produce a faithful translation. And his rendering was as follows,—
Nicholas assents. So proceed quickly. Risk of discovery in transmitting document. Therefore burn as soon as seized. When done, report matter. Envoy will follow to demand production.
Lipski's measure approved. Money shall be forwarded by usual route. Let him bribe freely. The success of his bill Russia's justification. Impossible, then, for Europe to oppose annexation.—ORLOFF.
The signature seemed to show that the letter came from the governor-general of Warsaw, the knouter of Katina, but there was nothing to indicate the person for whom it was intended. Paul had little doubt as to the correctness of his decipherment, though the meaning was far from clear to him.
Zabern would doubtless be able to understand the allusions, and if the marshal should not soon make his appearance Paul was resolved to go in quest of him.
The night was now far advanced, and, having been at work several hours in a close chamber, Paul was beginning to feel somewhat languid. He therefore walked forward and opened a casement to gain a breath of the fresher air without.
It was dark and cloudy, and as he stood looking forth a mournful wind dashed rain-drops into his face.
The part of the palace in which this apartment was situated formed the extremity of an architectural wing, which was fronted at the distance of about a hundred feet by a second wing equal in length to the first and parallel with it. These two wings formed with the main structure the three sides of a court.
As he casually turned his eyes upon the opposite wing, at the point where it formed an angle with the main building, Paul thought he detected a movement on the part of somebody or something about half-way between the roof and the ground. Straining his eyes to the utmost, he became convinced that what he saw dimly outlined against the gray wall was the figure of a man poised in mid-air; for as Paul could detect no ladder beneath him, he could only come to the conclusion that the fellow was suspended by a rope.
The man made no attempt to ascend or descend, but continued in the one position; and as far as Paul could discern in the darkness his arm was moving to and fro with horizontal motion.
Now just at the place where this man hung there was, as Paul had observed earlier in the evening, a small window, a window crossed by iron bars.
A grated window in a palace suggests the idea that the room thus secured is used for the preservation of things valuable; at any rate this was Paul's idea. He believedthat the fellow was quietly removing the iron bars with the view of procuring whatever it was that lay behind them.
It was an extremely hazardous enterprise. True, the man was favored by the darkness, and by the noise of wind and rain, but at any moment he was liable to be surprised by the night-watch going its rounds, either in the courtyard below or on the roof above.
Two sentinels paced the very battlements overlooking this court. Earlier in the evening Paul had heard their footsteps overhead and their challenges. Were they asleep? If not, they must be keeping a very lax watch to permit this man to perform such work under their very eyes.
Then the truth flashed upon Paul. The man himself was a soldier, one of the two appointed to patrol this particular part of the roof. The other was his confederate. Both were engaged in some nefarious work. Treason was afoot in the palace!
Rejecting his first impulse, which was to steal quietly downstairs and summon the guard, Paul resolved to tackle the two single-handed. As there was no staircase from his room to the roof, he determined to mount to the battlements by means of a water-pipe adjacent to his window.
Thrusting a loaded pistol within his breast, he stepped out upon the window-sill, and pulling himself up by the water-pipe silently and quickly, he clambered over the battlements without detection. Keeping within an embrasure, he peered out along the roof. There, a few yards distant, outlined against the sky, was the tall, cloaked figure of a sentinel leaning upon his rifle and with his eyes turned towards the grated window.
Paul, glancing in the same direction, could no longer see the man hanging in mid-air. A faint glow of light stole through the mysterious window. Hence Paul concludedthat the fellow was now within the chamber occupied upon the matter that had brought him there.
Stealing noiselessly forward, Paul suddenly clapped his hand upon the sentinel's shoulder, and, pointing to the grated window he cried,—
"Do you intend to arrest that villain, or are you his confederate?"
The sentinel instantly turned, with confusion and guilt written upon his face. Misled by the uniform, he took Paul for a Czernovese officer, and as such he was one that must be silenced at all costs, for it was death to be caught thus in the act of treason.
Lowering his bayonetted rifle to the charge, he made a thrust at Paul's body. But Paul, on the watch for this movement, sprang aside, wrested the rifle away, and clubbing it, dealt the fellow a fearful blow on the head. The sentinel staggered back and dropped to the pavement, where he lay senseless and still.
Peering over the battlements to learn whether this action on his part had been observed, Paul was surprised to see a blue light at the chamber-window. The man was flashing a lantern to and fro, an action that lasted for a few seconds.
Recovering from his surprise, Paul sped onward, and reached the battlement to which the rope was attached.
Kneeling within an embrasure and glancing downwards, he perceived a faint cloud of smoke proceeding from the window.
What was taking place within? Was the fellow setting fire to this part of the palace?
It was not in Paul's nature to remain inactive while evil was in progress. He instantly resolved to descend to the chamber for the purpose of putting a stop to what he could not doubt was nefarious work. Grasping the rope with both hands, he swung himself downwards, not neglecting, however, at the same time to keep an eyeupon the window. As soon as his feet touched the sill he drew forth his pistol, and without pausing to notice what was happening within the room, without a glance, even, he sent his feet through the space between the bars, a space barely sufficient to admit the passage of his body.
The room was in darkness,—this much he was conscious of as he shot forward, and a smell as of smoke hung in the air. Paul fell supine upon the stone flooring, but he was up again in an instant, endeavoring to ascertain through the gloom what strange thing had happened or was happening.
His attention was immediately arrested by a strange voice,—a voice lowered to a whisper that was full of guilty terror.
"Is that you, Peter? What has brought you down? In God's name make no noise. Gabor is on guard in the corridor outside."
"Then let Gabor enter," shouted Paul in a voice of thunder. "Ho! without there! Gabor, Gabor, whoever you may be, here is a prisoner for you."
Directed by the voice, Paul rushed forward through the darkness, and with his left hand he clutched the fellow by the throat, intending to reduce him to submission by pressing the barrel of the pistol to his forehead. The uplifting of the fellow's arm sent the weapon flying from Paul's hand, and next moment the two men were grappling savagely together.
The soldier, for Paul could tell that he was such by the feel of his uniform, was a powerful fellow, and desperation had now doubled his strength. He knew that the chamber-door was strong, and that the key was not in the hands of the sentinels outside; if he could overcome this present antagonist in the interval that must elapse before the key could be procured, there was a possibility of his escaping. He wrestled, therefore, with all the fury of a wild beast.
Locked in each other's arms, the two men swayed backwards and forwards, and then fell, rolling over and over.
Paul's cry, together with the noise of the scuffle, had attracted the notice of the guard posted at the end of the corridor leading to this chamber. The shouting of voices and the running of feet were heard on the other side of the door.
"Ho! Lasco, off to the captain for the key. The devil's work is going on within. How have they managed to get inside? Ah, by the window! Melchior, up to the battlement, and cover the window with your rifle. See they escape not! Now, Lasco, dolt! dullard! slowbody! don't stand gaping there. Run for the key. The key, man, the key!"
"The keyishere!" cried a deep, powerful voice. And above the oaths and gasps of his struggling opponent, Paul could hear Zabern's Hessian boots clattering along the corridor.
"Lasco, quick! Yon lamp! hold it up!" cried the marshal. "Gabor and Melchior, as I open the door, rush in and cover them with your rifles. Now!"
The key rattled in the lock; the massive door swung back upon its hinges, and the two sentinels, eager to learn what was taking place, rushed in with rifles levelled, ready to fire at any one who should offer resistance.
They paused in blank amazement at beholding by the light of the lamp one of their own corps stretched supine and panting, with Paul Woodville above pinning him to the floor by the throat.
"Why, it's Michael!" cried Gabor.
Even in the midst of his excitement Paul observed that Zabern was carrying in his hand a sheet of paper which he recognized as his translation of the cipher despatch.
"In time, thank heaven!" murmured the marshal, from which remark Paul concluded that the mission ofthe traitor-sentinel was connected in some way with Orloff's letter.
"Gabor, Lasco, Melchior, leave us. Close the door; retire to the far end of the corridor, and on your lives stir not from that spot till I call."
The three sentinels retired.
"Good-night to Michael!" whispered Gabor to his two comrades. "We shall never see him again. I know that look in the marshal's eye."
Paul, little the worse for the struggle, released his hold of the soldier and rose to his feet. But it was beyond the power of the other to rise. Fear, inspired by the presence of the dark-frowning Zabern, kept him motionless and mute. He sat the picture of abject terror.
Now that Paul was free to look around, he observed that he was within a vaulted stone chamber, about twenty feet square, and but scantily supplied with furniture. In one part there was a small iron chest fixed to the wall with staples. Paul, by some intuition, divined that Michael's nefarious attempt was directed against the contents of this chest.
Zabern made one swift stride towards the coffer, and seemed relieved at finding it locked.
Turning again, he folded his arms and faced the man with a terrible frown.
"I shall not ask your object in coming here. You and I both know that. So you haven't got it?"
Michael made no reply.
"It is still safe?"
Michael remained mute. He seemed literally frozen with terror.
"Why so silent, fellow? Your tongue wagged ever loudest in the guard-house."