"By shooting the duke I make the Czar the heir to my crown," said Barbara. "By retaining him alive I may be able to make use of his person as a pawn on the political chessboard. Imprisonment will be the wiser course. Remove the duke to the Citadel."
And inasmuch as the marshal recognized Barbara as his princess, he had of necessity to obey.
When Zabern had seen the duke securely lodged in a cell of the Citadel, he returned to the White Saloon, where Barbara still lingered, wrapt in melancholy thought.
"Your Highness, on entering the palace this note was put into my hands."
Barbara glanced at the missive and saw that it contained the following words: "Marshal, will you accord the bearer of this an interview with the princess?—Paul Woodville."
Barbara's melancholy vanished as if by enchantment. Two months had now elapsed since Paul's departure, and during that time she had received no message from him. Now at last there seemed to be tidings.
"Who is the bearer, marshal?"
"One returned from the dead. A woman calling herself 'Jacintha of Castel Nuovo.' She is in the ante-room at the present moment awaiting your Highness's pleasure."
The mention of the name "Jacintha" almost drew ascream from the princess. She ordered the visitor to be instantly admitted.
Barbara's character was not marked by the false pride that is too often the accompaniment of rank and wealth. She welcomed her humble visitor as warmly as she would have welcomed a queen or empress. Jacintha had nursed her back to life, and Barbara, mindful of this service, was delighted to have the opportunity of making some return.
"My lady—your Highness, I should say," began Jacintha, sinking upon her knees, "it is very untimely on my part to visit you on the eve of your coronation, when you are occupied—"
"My dear old nurse," said Barbara, raising Jacintha up with a winning smile, "let me whisper a secret to you. I want to forget my coronation, and your presence will make me forget it. Sit here beside me, and let us talk of the old days at Castel Nuovo."
Zabern would have withdrawn, but the princess bade him stay.
"I had thought," continued Barbara, "that you had perished in that dreadful earthquake. And Lambro? Is he alive?"
"No, my la—your Highness. We were outside the castle at the time of the calamity, for some previous rumblings had alarmed us. When the great shock came Lambro slipped into a fissure that opened beneath his feet. He went down before my very eyes, and the earth closed over him immediately. How I myself escaped I cannot tell, for the ground was opening and closing all around me."
"Poor Lambro!" sighed Barbara, who had always entertained a liking for the old Palicar, not knowing how little he deserved her friendship. "And where have you been living during the two past years?"
Jacintha's story, briefly stated, was as follows. After the earthquake she had made her way to Trieste, andthence by steamer to England. Within a few weeks of her return she had had the good fortune to become housekeeper in one of the ancient halls of Kent.
"But now will you not remain with me?" smiled the princess.
"Your Highness will not wish it after you have heard the whole of my story," replied Jacintha, and the strange look which accompanied her words somehow caused all Barbara's gladness to die away.
A few days previously Jacintha's master had bidden her prepare for the coming of one of his friends, Captain Woodville by name. What was her amazement to find in her visitor none other than Captain Cressingham, who on his part was equally astounded at meeting Jacintha. Paul immediately fell to talking of the old days at Castel Nuovo, and, among other matters, he questioned Jacintha closely as to the young lady who had visited the castle under the escort of Cardinal Ravenna. Jacintha learnt from Paul that this lady was in reality the half-sister of Barbara, and that both held the rank of princess. Then it was that Jacintha resolved to tell Paul the true story of Natalie's death.
"Ha!" muttered Zabern, foreseeing that his dark suspicion was about to be verified.
"And Captain Woodville has sent you here to tell it to me likewise—is it not so?" asked Barbara.
"Yes, your Highness. I wanted to put the story into writing, that you might learn it in that way. I wanted Captain Cressingham himself to tell it to you. But no; he said it was better that you should hear it from my lips, and he prevailed upon me to come here."
"Go on, Jacintha," said Barbara encouragingly, for Jacintha seemed very loath to proceed.
"Your Highness, it is no wonder that the earthquake came to swallow up the castle, for wicked doings took place there. But do not blame me for my association withthem. I loathed my position there, and would have run away, but for the fear of Lambro and his mastiffs. Now that you are a great princess, you will perhaps punish me when you shall have heard the truth."
"Captain Woodville would not have sent you all the way to Czernova, if he had thought that I should punish you. Tell me the story of my sister's death. You have my word beforehand that no hurt shall happen to you."
And Jacintha with a faltering tongue began a story, the recital of which caused Barbara to thrill with horror.
"O Natalie, my sister! my sister!" she murmured, when Jacintha had finished. "But for the cardinal, you would still be living. His guilty love has driven one sister to suicide, and now, opposed in his wicked desires, he seeks to destroy the other. How can heaven permit this man to live? Bora's guilt is innocence compared with the guilt of Ravenna."
Powerless to allay the princess's grief, Zabern could only watch her in sympathizing silence, and mentally renew his vows of vengeance upon the cardinal. So full was Barbara of this new sorrow that she seemed to have forgotten Paul; at least she made no inquiries about him.
Zabern, however, leading Jacintha aside, quietly questioned her as to the movements of the princess's late secretary. It appeared that Paul had accompanied Jacintha as far as Berlin, and had there put her in a train bound for Czernova; seized with a sudden illness on the way, she had been removed from the carriage at the first stopping-place, and this circumstance had delayed her arrival in Czernova by several days. Paul himself, on parting from her, was going direct to St. Petersburg, a statement which Zabern received with incredulity.
"St. Petersburg? Are you certain?"
Yes, Jacintha was quite certain.
"St. Petersburg," muttered Zabern. "Not three months ago the Russians were demanding his extradition,and now does he venture into the country of his enemies? If his passport is made out in the name of Paul Woodville, he is a doomed man; they will never let the defender of Tajapore depart. This is something I can't understand."
Though closely interrogated by Zabern, Jacintha was unable to throw any light upon the motives that had prompted Paul to visit Russia.
The marshal paced uneasily to and fro.
"Captain Woodville," he murmured, "pledged his solemn word to be in Czernova on the coronation eve; for, forewarned by me, he had reason to believe that the princess's crown depended upon his sword. But he has not yet appeared. His absence has something sinister in it, for it is certain that he would be here if he could. True, his presence in one sense has now become unnecessary, inasmuch as the duke being a prisoner in the Citadel will be unable to appear in the cathedral to-morrow to challenge the princess's rights, and to defy her to mortal combat by deputy. But as Woodville can know nothing of the duke's imprisonment, why does he not hasten to the supposed aid of the princess? I greatly fear that our champion is himself a prisoner."
At this point intimation was given by the chamberlain that one of Zabern's familiars, privileged to enter the palace at all hours, was in the anteroom, desirous of a word with the marshal.
Zabern withdrew from the White Saloon, and returned after a minute's absence with the tidings for which he had been waiting all day.
"Your Highness, my spy appointed to watch the cardinal in his journeying to and fro from Rome reports that his Eminence has just arrived at Slavowitz, bringing with him the papal bull which deposes the Princess of Czernova, and absolves her subjects from their allegiance."
"Say, rather, bringing with him his own death-warrant,"cried Barbara, with a blaze of wrath unusual in her.
"Your Highness gives me leave to deal with the cardinal as I please," whispered Zabern, tapping the hilt of his sabre significantly.
Barbara made no reply.
The marshal interpreting her silence as consent, stole quietly from the apartment.
The coronation eve was drawing to a close as Pasqual Ravenna, Cardinal Archbishop of Czernova, sat in the library of his archiepiscopal palace in company with a young priest, Melchior by name.
One of the points which had wounded the pride of Ravenna in time past had been the refusal of Abbot Faustus, of the Convent of the Transfiguration, to submit his monastery to a visit of inspection from the cardinal. Though ecclesiastically the superior, Ravenna was unable to enforce compliance from the sturdy abbot, who claimed to be independent in virtue of an ancient bull granted by Pius the Second. Even a mild admonition from the regnant Pope had failed to produce any effect.
The cardinal had begun to suspect that Faustus's defiance was prompted by other motives than the desire to maintain his independence; there was some secret connected with this monastery, a secret in which the princess herself was involved; and accordingly he had deputed the priest Melchior, whose crafty character well qualified him for the work, to discover, if possible, the mystery that lay hidden behind the walls of the Convent of the Transfiguration.
And now, in the first hour of the cardinal's return from Rome, Melchior had come to report the results of his investigations, results which were highly satisfactory to Ravenna.
"So," he murmured, when the other had unfolded hisdiscoveries, "a conspiracy for the emancipation of Poland, a conspiracy to which Ravenna must not be admitted, such being the express command of the princess. 'The cardinal is not to be trusted.' Ha! The place then is no true monastery but an arsenal, a treasury, and a repository for treasonable documents. This explains the conduct of Faustus in excluding me from his convent. Favored by the princess, he has grown insolent, and would usurp my place at the coronation. To-morrow he will rue his defiance when he sees his monastery in the hands of Russian soldiery. The Czar's army lies conveniently near for the seizure. How did you learn all these details, Melchior?"
"From a kinsman of mine, a monk in this same convent. In a conversation with him I stated my belief that his monastery was utilized as a secret rendezvous for Polish patriots. After some hesitation he admitted as much; and then, won over by my professions of patriotism, he revealed to me the length and breadth of the conspiracy."
"Melchior, you have done well, and shall not go unrewarded."
The priest expressed his gratitude by an ugly smile, and then with a look of cunning he continued,—
"Your Eminence, I have discovered something more. We Czernovese have lost our title to autonomy. The Charter has been destroyed, and the princess's ministers are doing their best to keep the matter a secret."
"Ha! how do you know this?" said Ravenna, surprised beyond measure at the statement.
"The Charter was burnt by two sentinels whose duty it was to guard the Eagle Tower. They were traitors in the pay of Russia. By the waving of a blue lamp they signalled the successful accomplishment of the work to a confederate concealed in the palace grounds, who immediately conveyed the news to Orloff, the governor ofWarsaw. This confederate returned to Slavowitz a few weeks ago. He is a Catholic, it seems, regular at confessional. Being troubled with the thing called conscience, and desiring to be absolved from his guilt, he revealed the matter to his father confessor Virgilius, who, in turn—"
"Revealed it to you," interrupted the Cardinal, his surprise yielding to delight, for the news furnished him with another weapon to be used against the princess. "What has become of the two who destroyed the Charter?"
"They have never been seen since the night of the deed. Doubtless they are now in Russia enjoying a pension from the Czar's ministers. Oh! your eminence, there can be no doubt as to the truth of the story. Orloff himself came as envoy to Slavowitz; he boldly declared in the presence of the princess and her ministers that the Czernovese Charter was a myth, and non-existent; and—here is the significant point—her Highness and Zabern did not refute him by producing the Charter, but took refuge in evasions."
"But, Melchior," observed the cardinal with perplexed air, "you must be in error. This evening the iron coffer containing the Charter was conveyed to the Cathedral under a strong guard of soldiers. It plays a part in the coronation-ritual."
Melchior smiled caustically.
"Your eminence, three little circumstances that have happened of late may serve to throw a little light upon what is contained in that coffer. Firstly, within a few days after the destruction of the Charter, Zabern's mistress, Katina Ludovska, made purchase of some parchment at a stationer's in the Rue de Sobieski, and was very critical as to its color, texture, and the like. Secondly, this same Katina was for several days in an apartment of the Vistula Palace occupied in writing. Thirdly,as you are aware, ourMuseum Czernoviumcontains a collection of historical documents, among them autograph letters of several Czars, and—what is more pertinent to the occasion—an imperial ukase bearing the signature, 'Buit po semu, Ickathrina.—Be it so, Catherine.' Your Eminence will doubtless remember that our Charter ended with these same words, 'Buit po semu, Ickathrina.' Now it is a curious circumstance that this imperial ukase should have vanished some weeks ago from its glass case in the Museum; the curator is unable to account for its disappearance, but probably Zabern can."
"You mean—?"
"That any one wishing to imitate the signature of Catherine would find the task facilitated by having this ukase before him. Your Eminence, doubt it not that the document to be laid upon the altar to-morrow is a forgery. Count Orloff in the character of ambassador will be present at the coronation. A word to him—"
"Enough," interrupted Ravenna with an exultant smile. "This shall to the Czar. Here's matter sufficient to depose the princess. Within twenty-four hours the iron hand of Russia will be pressing the principality."
"True. And yet," said Melchior, somewhat puzzled to account for his master's attitude, "and yet when that happens what place will there be for a Roman archbishop?"
"None: and therefore after to-morrow I quit this barbarous principality for Italy, leaving without reluctance, for, you know, I never was a Pole. The Pope has appointed me to the See of Palestrina. You shall accompany me, Melchior, and the first rich benefice that becomes vacant in my diocese shall be yours. Italia, Italia," said the cardinal with a glow of enthusiasm, "where the skies are sunny, the wines delicious, and the women—"
"More yielding than the cold dames of Czernova," smiled Melchior, well acquainted with his master's character.
"The hour is late, and much remains to be done," observed Ravenna. "Melchior, you will call upon those of the clergy whom I have named, and request their attendance here at eight in the morning to listen to a rescript from the Pope."
The priest bowed and quitted the apartment.
Left alone, the cardinal drew writing-materials towards himself, and proceeded to indite a letter, a letter intended for the perusal of no less a personage than the Czar Nicholas. The contents of the missive were brief, but exceedingly weighty.
In leisurely fashion, Ravenna went over what he had written, and seemingly satisfied with the composition, he proceeded to fold the paper several times; then selecting—and not without reason as the sequel proved—an extremely small envelope, he enclosed the letter within it.
The night was very warm; and the windows were open to catch every breath of air. These windows overlooked the gardens in the rear of the palace, for the cardinal's library lay remote from the public street.
The sounds of distant revelry floated faintly on the air. The Czernovese were not disposed to retire early on such a festal eve as this. Many, indeed, were spending the night in the streets for the purpose of securing a place of vantage from which to view the coronation procession next day.
Ravenna smiled cynically as he listened to the murmur of the far-off voices.
"The morrow shall see your mirth turned to mourning," he muttered.
The letter accidentally dropped from his hand as he was in the act of affixing his seal of the paschal lamb. He let it lie, while with closed eyes he leaned back in his chair, picturing his triumph of the morrow. In fancy he could see the princess led off, a pale, silent, drooping captive under an escort of Russian soldiers, and the Duke of Boraenthroned in the cathedral amid the shouting of the Czar's legions.
"Barbara Lilieska," he said aloud, and with his eyes still closed, "you shall regret your insolence in putting an affront upon me in the sight of Czernova."
"Don't be too sure of that," said an ironical voice.
The one man in Czernova whom the cardinal least desired to see on this particular night was Zabern; and yet it was Zabern who had spoken!
With a sudden start Ravenna opened his eyes to find the marshal standing with folded arms upon the other side of the table. Behind him was his orderly, Nikita. A third man, a trooper named Gabor, was in the act of locking the door of the apartment. Alive to his peril, the cardinal struck repeatedly at a bell upon the table.
"Of no use," remarked Zabern, with an ice-cold smile. "There is no one in the house but your steward, who is keeping watch at the foot of the staircase. He has lately become a spy in my service. He has just dismissed your household, bidding them go forth to view the city decorations. They will not return for an hour at least—ample time for our work."
"What do you want of me?"
"Your life."
Ravenna could not suppose that Zabern had come for anything else; nevertheless, the cool, frank avowal sent the blood to his heart with a rush.
"You would murder me?" he gasped.
"Call it murder if you will. Execution is my term."
"What is my trespass?"
"'Stolen waters are sweet.' Strange text for holy cardinal to address to youthful princess. You comprehend? Do you ask, then, why you should die?"
So all was known to these men. What mercy could he expect? He glanced from one to the other, but saw no pity in their stern, set faces. The trio had come to do abloody work, and would do it. He strove to keep a cool head; he tried to reason with his would-be assassins.
"You will have to answer for what you do."
"To the saints above—yes; and I am ready. At the bar of God I'll rest my title to heaven on the holy deed I do to-night. To a human tribunal—no, for none shall know that you have been killed by others. Behold!"
Zabern, as he spoke, drew forth a small cut-glass phial, half-full of a liquid resembling distilled water. The silver cap bore the inscription, "The Manna of Saint Nicholas."
"Aqua Tophania," continued the marshal. "Ah! you start? You recognize the phial? Yes, it has been taken from a secret drawer of your own cabinet. Why a holy cardinal should have poison in his possession is best known to himself. I can, however, testify to its efficacy, for the condemned criminal upon whom I experimented to-day died within five minutes. Pasqual Ravenna, your servants on their return will find you leaning over the table dead, clutching this empty phial in your hand. To-morrow all Slavowitz will be discussing the suicide of the cardinal archbishop. Your nephew, Redwitz of Zamoska, may send off his three sealed packets, and very much surprised the recipients will be to find nothing within them but blank papers, for the originals have been abstracted, read by the princess, and burnt."
Like one dazed by a heavy blow, Ravenna stared vacantly at the speaker, and then his eye, mechanically sinking lighted upon something white near his feet. It was the letter that he had recently written. The sight of it suddenly quickened his blood and suggested a plan for outwitting his assassins. He was still seated at the table, and with his foot he gently pushed the letter forward till it lay concealed beneath the fringe of the overhanging damask cloth.
Upon the table itself there lay before him a documentalmost as dangerous as the letter. This was a roll of vellum with papal seals attached. It was beyond him to conceal this document from Zabern, whose face was set upon it with grim satisfaction.
"What have we here?" he cried, stooping over the table, and lifting the vellum. "The papal bull, as I live," he continued, glancing his eye rapidly over the document, and reading snatches from it. "'We, Pio Nono ... do herewith commission our faithful brother in Christ, Pasqual Ravenna'—Angels of light! such names mingled! Christ and Ravenna!—'commission him to pronounce sentence of anathema and excommunication against the so-called Natalie Lilieska,'—so-called, so-called," muttered Zabern, stopping in his reading with a sudden fear, and hardly daring to continue the perusal; "what does that mean?—'in that while claiming to be lawful Princess of Czernova, and a daughter of the True Church, she is an impostor who ...' Oh, devil that you are!" cried Zabern, breaking off, and grinding his teeth in anger, "so you have told that story to the Pope?"
"It is known to all the Vatican," replied Ravenna, hoping that the knowledge of the fact would restrain Zabern from his dreadful purpose. "The Pope will understand why I am murdered, and to whom the deed should be ascribed. You will do well to pause and reflect."
Zabern's face grew terrible in its expression, as he realized the desperate strait to which Barbara was now reduced. If the Pope were master of her secret, not only could he anathematize, but he had likewise the power of deposing her whenever he chose.
"'Pause and reflect'?" said Zabern, repeating Ravenna's words. "Why, this disposes me more than ever to slay you. What motive have I for keeping you alive? So, cardinal," he continued, after a brief pause, "youwould have come to the coronation, robed in full canonicals, with the Latin clergy of Czernova at your back, to interdict Abbot Faustus from performing the ceremony, to read the Pope's rescript, and to anathematize the princess with bell, book, and candle. Vain your hopes! This papal bull shall not be read in the cathedral to-morrow, for here is the end of it."
With these words Zabern raised the document to the flame of the candelabrum, and there held it till the vellum had shrivelled to blackened flakes.
"That the Pope should sign his name to such rhodomontade!" he muttered contemptuously. "He threatens us; let him beware of his own downfall. The House of Savoy shall be our avengers. The Sardinian king will never rest till he himself shall reign at Rome."
A prediction destined to be fulfilled.
Zabern, resolving to show cause for the slaying of Ravenna, seated himself in a chair, rested his elbow upon the table, his face upon his hand, and glared across the crimson damask.
"Cardinal, when you told the Pope that story, did you tell him the whole of it? How the Princess Natalie met her death, for example?"
"The Princess Natalie committed suicide at Castel Nuovo."
"True; and so you told her father, Prince Thaddeus, but you did not tell him her reason for the act. Let us hear it."
Ravenna was silent.
"The truth is that you had become possessed of unhallowed desires towards that fair princess during your tour with her around the shores of the Adriatic. When at Zara you proposed a visit to your place, Castel Nuovo, and the princess, doubting nothing, willingly accompanied you. While there you made certain proposals to her, who was so innocent in mind that she failed to understandyou, and wonderingly repeated your words to the housekeeper Jacintha. Full well did Jacintha know your object in bringing that young girl there. For, holy cardinal, Natalie was not the first. You were ever eloquent in persuading youthful widows and maidens to renounce the world and to take the veil. It was your practice to escort your victims to some convent in Dalmatia, and the journey was always broken at Castel Nuovo. When yourprotégéesleft that place they had good reason for wishing to hide themselves in a convent.
"To such a point of depravity and recklessness had your nature grown that you could not refrain, even where a princess was concerned. At Castel Nuovo there was a secret passage leading from your study to the chamber where Natalie slept. In the silence and darkness of the night you stole down to accomplish your wicked purpose. When I think of the shame and horror of that poor girl's awakening, her imploring words and cries—"
At this point Nikita, thinking of his own youthful daughter, who once upon a time had been almost persuaded by Ravenna to adopt a conventual life, could no longer restrain himself.
"Have at you!" he cried fiercely, drawing his sabre.
The stroke aimed by him at the cardinal's head was intercepted by the sword of the quick-moving Zabern.
"Hold, Nikita. No clumsy work. No betrayal of ourselves. Toffana's hell-drops will do the trick more safely. Put up your weapon."
When the other had somewhat reluctantly obeyed, Zabern resumed,—
"Next morning the wretched princess, rendered completely insane by the thought of her dishonor, staggered through the secret passage, and after invoking the vengeance of heaven upon you, she stabbed herself and so died.
"By some means you prevailed upon Lambro andJacintha to maintain silence on the part played by you in this tragedy. A message was sent to Prince Thaddeus, who happened at this time to be at Zara. He came; wept over his daughter's suicide; wondered what motive could have prompted the deed, but never suspected the holy cardinal. Pasqual Ravenna, do you deny the truth of this?"
No answer came from the accused.
"Cardinal, such guilt as yours would be ill-atoned for by an after-life of penance in monastic cell, in sackcloth and ashes, with scourgings and with diet of bitter herbs. But, untroubled by the crime, dead to the voice of conscience, you mingle unashamedly with your fellow-men, you aspire to play the statesman—nay, you hesitate not to minister in the holiest rites of religion. Was it not enough for you to have destroyed Natalie, but that you must seek to draw her sister to your arms? And because our princess would remain virtuous and good, you in your black rage would come forward at the coronation to-morrow, and, by lying words—for none know better than yourself that she is the lawful daughter of Thaddeus—you would seek to procure her dethronement. Never slew I man yet, save with regret; now for the first time do I take pleasure in killing a fellow-mortal.
"Pasqual Ravenna, your last hour has come. To-night shall Princess Natalie's dying cry be answered. The maidens whom you have wronged shall be avenged."
Something glittered in Zabern's hand. It was a surgical instrument of steel, designed for forcing open the jaws of persons bent on keeping them shut.
Holding this dreadful instrument, together with the poison-phial, in his left and only hand, Zabern motioned Nikita and Gabor to grip the cardinal by the arms.
"Give me ten minutes, ten minutes only, in the next apartment," gasped Ravenna.
"For what purpose?"
"To—pray."
"I fail to see the use," responded Zabern dryly. "Heavens! Nikita, how strangely constituted these churchmen must be to think that a life of guilt may be atoned for by ten minutes of prayer."
"As you yourself hope for mercy at the last day, I beseech you to grant me ten minutes—five, then—in the next room."
Zabern laid the steel and phial upon the table.
"You may have ten minutes' grace, but you will do your praying here."
"That apartment is an oratory," pleaded Ravenna.
"Let him have his wish, marshal," said Gabor.
"And see him escape us?" ejaculated Nikita fiercely.
"I cannot escape. There is no exit from the oratory, secret or open, save by that door. The window is fifty feet from the ground."
Zabern, suspecting that Ravenna was trying to effect his escape, approached the chamber in question, and found it to be an oblong apartment, twenty feet by ten, fitted up as an oratory, and hung with sacred pictures. At the far end, through a casement of stained glass, arrowy beams of tender silvery moonlight slanted upon an altar, surmounted by an ivory crucifix with waxen tapers burning before it. There was an air of solemnity in the place which exercised an influence even upon the stern mind of Zabern.
"Take your ten minutes," he exclaimed, pointing within, "but seek not to escape, for my eye shall be on you the while."
Ravenna rose from his seat; in rising he purposely stumbled and fell, and while so doing he contrived to secure possession of the letter lying beneath the table, and to secrete it within the folds of his cassock. Then with slow and faltering step he moved into the oratory,and taking out his rosary, he knelt with bowed head before the altar.
Zabern, standing without, kept the door slightly open in order that he might not lose sight of Ravenna's movements.
Gabor the trooper here put a very pertinent question.
"Marshal, since the Pope and his cardinals know the princess's secret, what do we gain by killing the archbishop?"
"We stop his mouth from proclaiming the secret to-morrow," replied Zabern.
"True. But afterwards—?"
"Afterwards, my good Gabor, no one shall be able to say that our princess is not Natalie Lilieska. Was the real Natalie marked with a mole upon her right shoulder? A friendly physician can soon produce that disfigurement for us upon the fair skin of our princess."
Nikita laughed aloud.
"Is there any one living who can defeat the marshal?" he cried.
"There is one here who will make the attempt," said a voice.
At this the trio stared curiously at one another, for the words came from the oratory, and had plainly been uttered by none other than the cardinal. Recovering from his momentary surprise, Zabern, with sudden misgiving at his heart, flung wide the door.
"Marshal Zabern," said the voice of Ravenna, "as you value the throne of the princess, come not one step farther. Mark well what is in my hand."
The window of the oratory, which before had been shut, was now wide open, and the moonlight fell upon the lofty figure and pale face of the cardinal, who was standing erect on one side of the altar. In his right hand he held a dove, to the neck of which a letter was attached. The sight kept the three men dumb and motionless,for they instantly divined that the bird was a carrier-pigeon.
Ravenna's Italian guile had been more than a match for Zabern's subtlety. His object in kneeling before the altar had not been to pray, but to release the dove which had been attached to it by a silken thread—a dove purposely kept for emergencies. What captain of the guard on arresting the archbishop would be so stern-natured as to refuse his prisoner a few minutes' prayer in his private oratory? Ravenna, on releasing the dove, had affixed the letter to its neck, performing the feat so guardedly, that though he had been watched, now by Zabern, and now by Nikita, his movements had not given rise to suspicion.
"Listen," cried Ravenna, raising his left hand warningly. "If you enter I quit my hold of the dove. You observe the letter. Let me tell you what it contains."
"Say on," returned Zabern with affected indifference. "Your ten minutes have not yet expired."
"This evening," began the cardinal, "and just prior to your arrival I penned a letter intended for the Czar's perusal. That letter now hangs from this dove's neck. It contains three statements. Firstly, that the Princess of Czernova is not Natalie Lilieska; secondly, that the Czernovese Charter is a forgery from the hand of Katina Ludovska; thirdly, that the Convent of the Transfiguration contains ample evidence of a conspiracy for the emancipation of Poland. Each of these facts, singly, if known to the Czar, would be sufficient to hurl the princess from her throne. If this dove should fly forth it would be in my nephew's house at Zamoska within thirty minutes; an hour more, and Redwitz would be in the camp of the Czar. Thus, then, do I make my terms. Approach to do me hurt, and I release the dove. Retire from the palace, give me my life, and I swear by all that I hold holy to refrain from endangering the throne of the princess.It is within your power to murder me, but the murder will be dearly purchased, for it will bring utter ruin upon Czernova."
"Idle vaunting!" said Zabern. "All know that the carrier-pigeon flieth not in the dark."
"This dove has ere now found its way to Zamoska by moonlight."
That the cardinal spoke truth when he declared that the letter contained the weighty secrets Zabern did not doubt. Therefore to advance with intent to slay would be fatal to the interests of the princess; and yet to retire, leaving Ravenna to his own devices would be equally fatal, for Zabern knew full well that the cardinal's most solemn oath was not to be trusted. So soon as the trio should withdraw, so soon as Ravenna should be released from the fear of their presence, he would laugh at their simplicity, and would carry out his evil work against the princess, ay, and with more determination than ever, embittered as he would be by the attempt made upon his life. It was a terrible dilemma.
The trio stood upon the threshold of the oratory, immovable, irresolute, silent, gazing at the cardinal, who in turn kept his eyes fixed upon them like a prisoner waiting for the verdict of life or death.
"No terms with a Jesuit," muttered Zabern under his breath. "Nikita, you are the best shot. Draw your pistol, and shoot, not the cardinal, but the dove."
As Zabern spoke he moved slightly to one side, in order to screen the movements of his henchman.
Directly afterwards a report rang out, startlingly loud in that small chamber. It was accompanied by a sharp cry of anguish from the cardinal, and by a swift forward rush on the part of his foes, each eager to pounce upon the fallen bird.
But, by a strange mischance, Nikita, who was considered to be second only to Katina herself in the handlingof the pistol, had somehow failed to hit a conspicuous object seventeen feet away. The bullet had penetrated the wrist of the cardinal, whose hand had involuntarily relaxed its hold, with the result that the startled dove was now flying forth through the open casement.
With the air of one mad, Zabern pulled Nikita towards the window, and, hurling Ravenna aside, he thrust his own pistol into the trooper's hand.
"Shoot, Nikita, shoot in God's name," he cried, pointing to the dove, whose white form was clearly defined against the dark blue sky. "The fate of all Czernova rests on your aim."
The bird, as if doubtful what direction to take, was moving slowly round in a series of spirals and rising higher and higher each moment. Nikita pointed his weapon, raising it gradually with the ascent of the dove, till, deeming himself certain of his aim, he drew the trigger. A second shot rang out. Both men looked, expecting the instant fall of the dove, but the winged messenger remained unhurt, and apparently having chosen its route, flew off in a straight line, and immediately disappeared over the tree-tops.
"By heaven, you've missed again!" cried Zabern, his dismay being lost for the moment in wonder that Nikita's hand should have so strangely lost its cunning.
"God's curse is on me to-night," said Nikita, flinging the pistol from him. "Who," he added, with a touch of Slavonic superstition, "who can shoot a dove, symbol of the Holy Ghost?"
"Symbol of the holy devil!" cried Zabern. "Where's the cardinal?"
In his eagerness to mark the effect of Nikita's second shot Gabor had likewise pressed forward to the casement, forgetful of Ravenna, who, taking advantage of this negligence, picked himself up from the corner where Zabern had flung him, and ran from the oratory into the library.The wondering police next day traced his course over the carpet by the blood-drops that fell from his shattered wrist.
But in a moment more the avenging Zabern was after him, his sabre gleaming in his hand.
The cardinal had reached the locked door of the library: his unwounded hand had turned the key; his fingers were already upon the door-handle when Zabern, with a laugh of horrid glee, clutched him by the collar of his cassock with the same hand that held the sabre, and pulled him backward upon his knees.
The agony of the situation forced from Ravenna a yell that curdled the blood of the treacherous steward who kept watch at the foot of the staircase, but it had no effect upon Zabern.
"You paid no heed to Natalie's screams, nor will I to yours."
He thought no more now of safeguarding himself by imparting to the murder the appearance of suicide.
"To hell, and say that Zabern sent you."
Foaming with fury, he dealt not one, but many strokes at the kneeling, swaying figure, with its feebly upraised hands. Nikita and Gabor, equally frenzied, joined in the savage work.
The three miserable men wiped their bloody sabres upon the window-curtains, and stared down upon the carpet at something which had once been a man.
The clock-tower of the cathedral now sent forth the sweet and pretty carillon that always heralded the striking of the hour. Then after a solemn interval came the first peal of midnight.
"The princess's coronation day!" said Nikita.
"Humph! will there be any coronation?" muttered Zabern.
"Hark to the shouting!" said Gabor.
From every quarter of the capital, from the groups moving to and fro along the route of the intended procession, from spacious square and narrow alley, from the brilliantly illuminated hotel, and from the obscure private dwelling, came the sound of cheering, gradually swelling into one prolonged universal roar. The gala-day had come at last!
Zabern with a grim smile looked towards the north. The heaven in that direction was tinged with a red glow from the thousands of watch-fires in the Czar's camp—that camp towards which the swift-flying dove was now winging its course with the tidings fatal to Czernova. How long would it be ere that huge array came pouring across the border to depose the princess, and to establish the duke upon—
Zabern started.
Ere the shouting of the joyous populace had died away, a new and startling sound was reverberating through the night air. It was the boom of a single cannon, and that at no great distance. Its significance was intuitively divined by Zabern.
"The Citadel-gun!" he cried, recoiling from the window. "By God, the duke has escaped!"
The morning of Barbara's coronation broke soft and sunny; it seemed almost impossible that anything disastrous could happen on a day so fair.
Prior to setting off for the cathedral the princess entertained her ministers at breakfast. She herself occupied the head of the table, with Radzivil at her right hand and Zabern at the left. Dorislas was absent in command of the ten thousand appointed to guard the frontier.
So far no hostilities had occurred. Successive couriers arriving at intervals of every half-hour continued to report that the Russian forces still preserved their position of the previous afternoon,—a position about a mile distant from the Czernovese border. There was no movement on their part suggestive of coming invasion. The more hopeful of the ministers, therefore, began to pluck up courage, and tried to believe that the Czar's army had really mustered for the customary autumn manœuvres, and not for the purpose of preventing the coronation.
Zabern did not share in these hopeful views; none knew better than he did the magnitude of the peril that overhung Czernova. In reporting the cardinal's death to the princess Zabern had suppressed some details, and hence Barbara was unaware that a dove had flown off to Zamoska bearing a letter, which, if it should reach the Czar's hands, would most assuredly result in her dethronement. From very pity he withheld the fact.
"She will learn it soon enough," he thought. "Why add to evil the anticipation of it?"
During the course of the breakfast many comments were made upon the murder of Cardinal Ravenna.
"A terrible and mysterious affair!" said Radzivil, greatly shocked by the tragedy, and completely ignorant as to its authors. "The physicians assert that there are no less than eighteen wounds upon the body."
"Five less than Julius Cæsar received," commented Zabern irrelevantly.
"You offer a reward, I presume, for any information that shall lead to the detection of the assassins?" said the premier to Zabern, who, as Minister for Justice, was head of the department that took cognizance of crime.
"Not a rouble note," replied Zabern bluntly.
"That's contrary to your usual practice."
"Why should I offer a reward when I know who the—ah!—assassins are? There were three of them to the deed."
"You know them? And yet they have not been seized!"
"I have weighty reasons for deferring their arrest."
"Delay may end in their escape."
"The chief assassin cannot escape from me. The police know him and have their eye upon him whenever he walks abroad. I can put my finger upon him as easily as I now lay hand upon this coat," said Zabern smiling, and suiting the action to the word.
Radzivil was about to press for further enlightenment, but Barbara checked him.
"The subject is distressing to me," she said with a look that confirmed her words.
"Your Highness, I crave pardon," said the premier.
Though Barbara fully believed that no one had ever merited death more than Ravenna, yet the deed lay heavy on her mind. Not even the thought of the many maidens, her own sister among the number, sacrificed to the unholy desires of the cardinal, could blind her to the fact thatin sending Zabern to slay him she had committed a crime.
No such scruple, however, troubled the conscience of the marshal, whose only regret was that he had not despatched the duke likewise, while it lay in his power to do so.
Ere coming to the breakfast he had witnessed the execution of the deputy Lesko Lipski and the spy Ivan Russakoff with the feeling, however, that it was but sorry justice to shoot the agents, while the more guilty principal was at large.
"You have no tidings of Bora, I presume?" said Barbara turning to the marshal.
"None—so far, your Highness," replied Zabern. "But, oh!" he added with mingled surprise and satisfaction, "here comes one who should be able to explain the mystery of the duke's escape."
All eyes had turned towards a door which had just opened, giving ingress to a file of soldiers; they were under the command of Gabor, and escorted in their midst Miroslav, the governor of the Citadel.
"Your Highness," said Gabor, advancing and saluting, "I came upon the governor in the act of departing from the city. Thinking that you might like to interview him, I took the liberty of arresting him on my own authority."
"You have done well," replied Barbara; and then turning a cold face upon the governor, she said: "What defence have you to make, Miroslav? You received orders to exercise special vigilance over your prisoner, the Duke of Bora, and yet he contrived to escape."
"And with my connivance, so please your Highness."
"Traitor!" said Zabern, starting up, and half drawing his sword, "you have signed your death-warrant."
"Your Highness, hear my story ere condemning me. At eleven o'clock last night I was informed that a man stood at the gate of the Citadel demanding an interviewwith me. I sent to ascertain his name and business. 'Carry that to your master,' said the stranger, pencilling a few words on a card, and enclosing it within an envelope. On opening the envelope this is what I beheld."
Here Miroslav drew forth a small card, which Gabor conveyed to the princess, who started at sight of the words that were written upon it. She handed the note to Radzivil, whose face immediately expressed the utmost consternation. He tendered the card to Zabern, who in turn passed it to the minister beside him, and thus amid a death-like silence it went the round of the table.
And the words of the note were these,—
You are herewith commanded to release the Duke of Bora. Delay will mean death to you.
NICHOLAS PAULOVITCHCzar of all the Russias.
"When I saw that signature," continued Miroslav, "I gave orders that the visitor should be instantly admitted. On entering the room he commanded my servant to retire, and then when he had withdrawn the cloak from his face I saw that it was indeed the Emperor Nicholas. 'Have you given command for the release of my kinsman?' were his first words. Vain was it for me to protest that I could receive such an order only from the princess herself. 'I am the suzerain of Czernova, and therefore above the princess,' was his reply."
"Ha!" said Barbara, with a flash of her eyes. "And you acknowledged his suzerainty?"
"Your Highness is great, but the Czar is greater. Who is like the mighty Nicholas?"
"No one on earth, Miroslav; for which fact may the saints be praised!" remarked Zabern.
"Your Highness, I was so awed by the emperor's majestic presence, by his authoritative manner, by thethought of his empire and power that I could not do otherwise than obey him. The marshal himself would have done the like, had he been in my place."
Zabern repudiated the statement with a scornful laugh.
"I brought the duke to the presence of the emperor, and the two withdrew, going I know not where. Fearing your Highness's displeasure, I myself quitted the Citadel, intending to fly from Czernova. I throw myself upon your Highness's mercy."
"It was your duty, Miroslav," returned Barbara, "to retain your prisoner, even at the hazard of your life. In taking orders from a foreign sovereign you have committed an act of treason. Gabor, see that the governor be kept in the palace here till our return from the cathedral. We will then decide as to his punishment."
Gabor saluted, and the troop retired with their prisoner.
"The Czar secretly in our city!" murmured Radzivil, in a tone of dismay. "What is his object?"
"No good to our rule, count," replied Barbara, quietly.
The secret visit of the Czar to Slavowitz, and his act in releasing the Duke of Bora, had so sinister an aspect that the hopeful ones among the ministry returned at a bound to their previous state of doubt. Were they about to witness a coronation or a dethronement? Was the Czar preparing to intervene in the ceremony? Would the solemnity in the cathedral end amid the mockery and the triumph of the Muscovite faction? With a feeling of pity they glanced at their fair young ruler, who for her part showed no sign of fear in this great crisis. They recognized that if she should fall, she would fall with dignity.
The breakfast ended, and Barbara retired to dress for the coming ceremony.
Outside, in the wide extent of ground fronting the Vistula Palace, the long line of the procession was slowly forming under the direction of marshals and heralds.
Part of the procession consisted of a sort of historicpageant; its members, attired in costumes that recalled every period of Polish history, carried trophies and emblems, calculated to stir the patriotic enthusiasm of the populace.
In this pageant Katina Ludovska bore part, by far the most charming of the maidens present, clad as she was in a dainty corselet of silvered mail, above a dark-blue satin skirt flowered with gold. Mounted upon a beautiful bay, she bore proudly aloft a famous historic memorial, a standard captured by King Sigismund at the taking of Moscow, its white silken folds distinctly stamped with the impress of a bloody hand, a ghastly testimony to the struggle that had once raged around it.
In riding along the line of the procession, Zabern stopped and addressed a few words to his affianced.
"Not pasteboard and tinsel, I trust?" he said, with a smile, and referring to the sword by her side.
"Real steel," replied Katina, exhibiting the blade.
"Good! 'Tis well to go armed on such a day as this. We shall be fighting for our liberties ere long."
"Death before submission," replied Katina, with a brave light in her eyes that made Zabern love her the more.
The din caused by the marching of soldiers, the neighing of steeds, the rolling of carriage-wheels, the snarling of silver trumpets, the crisp, sharp word of command floated upward to Barbara's ears as she sat undergoing her toilet at the hands of her ladies. She wondered, as she had wondered many times that morning, how it would all end, for assuredly no coronation could ever have been heralded with more sinister auspices than her own.
Partly with a view to picturesque effect, and partly that the populace along the line of route might have a clear and uninterrupted view of their princess, it had been decided that she should proceed to the cathedral mounted upon a white palfrey.
Barbara had been somewhat disposed at first to shrink from this exposure to public gaze, but had finally consented to the arrangement, won over by the argument that as the people would assemble for the express purpose of seeing her, it would be a disappointment to them to catch but a glimpse of their ruler through the windows of a state-coach.
To Radzivil and Zabern had been given the honor of riding side by side with the princess, though the marshal cared much less for the honor than for the opportunity afforded him of exercising guard over her person, since he was not without apprehension that some fanatic Muscovite might attempt her life during her progress through the streets.
The procession was timed to start at ten o'clock, and as the hour drew near Zabern and the premier rode to the entrance of the palace, and there waited the coming of the princess.
The marshal was mounted upon a magnificent black charger, and made a splendid figure, for he wore the old picturesque Polish costume, and sparkled with diamonds from plume to spur.
"And to think," he mused in the interval of waiting, "to think that Captain Woodville has not yet arrived."
"Captain Woodville?" exclaimed the premier with a start. "Surely the princess is not recalling him?"
"No, but I am; and his non-arrival is a grave matter for us. Were the duke still in the Citadel, Woodville's absence might be borne with equanimity. As it is—but here comes the princess. I must defer my explanation."
Punctually at one minute to ten, Barbara appeared at the entrance of the palace, and descending the marble stairs, she mounted her white palfrey with the assistance of Radzivil.
Zabern at the same moment waved his plumed cap, and immediately a salvo of artillery from the roof of thepalace proclaimed to the waiting populace that the princess was about to set off.
Amid the roll of drums, the crash of music, and the pealing of bells from every steeple in the city, the great brazen gates of the palace gardens were flung wide, and there rode forth the head of the procession, the Blue Legion, their lances flashing brightly in the sunlight.
As they moved out, the sight that met their eyes was sufficient to stir the blood of the most sluggish. The centre of the road was empty, but the sidewalks were literally paved with human heads. Every window, balcony, and roof was alive with spectators. All Czernova was there, every citizen apparently determined to find a place somewhere along the line of route. Resolved to obtain a view somehow of their youthful sovereign, men could be seen clinging in mid-air to steeples, pediments, cornices, wherever foothold could be found. From the ground below to the sky above nothing but human faces.
"Sword of Saint Michael!" muttered Zabern. "A pity all have not been trained to use the rifle. We might, then, make good defence, even against the Czar's one hundred thousand."
As soon as Barbara made her appearance, she was greeted with frenzied cheering. Roar after roar rent the air. Rolling along the boulevard, and mounting upward to the sky, the sound was almost loud enough to be heard in the distant camp of the Czar. So great was the enthusiasm that the troops lining the streets could with difficulty prevent the populace from pressing forward to touch her.
If any dissentients to her rule were present along the line of route, they were careful to dissemble their feelings. But who could dissent from a maiden so sweet and fair? Dressed simply in white silk, she looked every inch a princess. Her dark hair was without covering, save fora slender gold diadem, from which there flowed behind a veil of diaphanous lace.
Tears glistened in eyes that had not been wet for years.
Aged men who had seen the great Kosciusko carried off from the fatal field of Macicowice; veterans who, like Zabern, had marched with Napoleon to the fall of Moscow; fugitives from Siberian mines, with bodies scarred by the iron fetters they had worn; Polish patriots, survivors of the ill-starred rising of '30—all were gathered that day in the Czernovese capital to acclaim one destined, so they believed, to revive the ancient empire of Poland. Many a salute did Zabern give, as from time to time he caught sight among the crowd of the face of some old familiar-in-arms.
Barbara, however, though smiling sweetly upon all around, was inwardly unhappy. A secret voice seemed to whisper, "Deceiver! this tribute of loyalty is offered to Natalie Lilieska, the lawfully born daughter of the Princess Stephanie, and not to the Barbara of doubtful origin."
It was too late now to recede from therôleshe had assumed, and so amid shouting multitudes she rode on, her progress from the palace to the cathedral being one continuous scene of triumph, unmarred by anything of a hostile character.
"It is here, then, that we are to look for the Czar'scoup?" muttered Zabern, as the cavalcade drew in sight of the stately Gothic cathedral of Saint Stanislas, from every tower of which silver-tongued bells were pealing jubilant carillons.
Those in the procession whose duty or privilege it was to enter the cathedral, made their ingress by various doors to their appointed places; the less fortunate remained drawn up in order around the edifice.
As Zabern stood upon the broad flight of steps, carpeted with crimson velvet, and surveyed the vast crowdsaround, his attention was suddenly arrested by the sight of a horseman at the far end of a boulevard which opened upon the cathedral square. As this avenue was kept clear by the military for the return journey of the princess, there was nothing to impede the rider's progress, and on he came with flying rein and bloody spur.
"A courier! a courier!" cried the people, instinctively divining that he was the bearer of weighty tidings. "What news? What news?"
To their cries, however, the rider remained mute.
"By heaven, it's Nikita!" muttered the marshal.
As the quivering steed drew up at the foot of the cathedral-stairs, Zabern sprang to meet his orderly.
"Now, marshal," said the latter, "play the Roman, and fall on your sword's point, for the end has come."
"A good many men shall fall by this blade ere it reaches my heart," growled Zabern. "What new trouble do you bring?"
"The chanting of the monks hath ceased; or to be plainer, the Russian standard is floating over the Convent of the Transfiguration."
"Speak you from hearsay merely?"
"I speak of what I have seen."
"The cardinal laughs at us from hell; this is the first result of his letter. The Russian invasion has begun, then? Pretty generalship on the part of Dorislas to let the enemy steal thus upon his rear! And where are the monks, that they have not fired the powder-magazine, and sent themselves and their foes flying into the air? They have sworn an oath to do it rather than let the convent fall into the hands of the enemy. There would not now have been one stone upon another if old Faustus had been there."
"It was when on my way back from the camp of Dorislas that I caught sight of the Muscovite standard on the tower of the convent. I immediately rode near andperceived the bayonets of the Paulovski Guards moving to and fro along the battlements. And who should be in command there but Baron Ostrova, the duke's former secretary—he whom the princess banished from Czernova. I at once galloped back to our camp with the news. Dorislas instantly set off with a thousand men; he has invested the convent; his artillery are ready planted for shelling the place, and he now awaits orders from you."
"'Orders'?" repeated Zabern with contempt. "My orders should be, 'Consider yourself cashiered for incompetence.' How many Russians do you suppose there are in the convent?"
"I cannot state the number, marshal—sufficient evidently to overpower the monks, and to hold the place in case of siege."
"And the rest of the Czar's forces?"
"Are abiding quietly in their camp on the other side of the frontier."
"Gladly would I come, Nikita, to direct operations, but that I dare not leave the side of the princess, for there is more danger to be apprehended here than before the convent. Dorislas shall see me with all speed as soon as the coronation is over. Meantime here are his orders."
And the marshal wrote upon a slip of paper: "Maintain cordon till my arrival. Do nothing unless attacked.—ZABERN."
Taking the note, Nikita rode off, his breakneck pace along the boulevard again exciting the wonder of the populace.
"This holding of the coronation while the foe is on Czernovese ground might seem a jest to some," murmured Zabern; "yet if, as I am hoping, the ceremony should tempt the Czar to come forward personally to oppose the princess's rights, then all may yet be well. Since Nicholas has chosen to make an armed raid upon our territory, let him not complain if he should find himselfa prisoner of war. And with the Czar in our hands we shall be masters of the game."
On turning to enter the porch, Zabern was met by the chief court official, to whom had been committed all the arrangements connected with the coronation.
"Marshal, the cathedral is full to overflowing, and yet there are hundreds at the northern porch clamoring for admittance, and all provided with proper orders."
"Very bad arrangement on your part."
"Not so, marshal. The tickets issued did not exceed the seating accommodation."
"Ha!" said Zabern, alive to the significance of this statement; "you mean that there are several hundred persons within who have no right to be there?"
"That is so, marshal. The whole body of the northern transept is filled with men who, I am certain, have gained entrance by means of forged orders. Among these men I recognize many Muscovites, not ruffians from Russograd, but Muscovites of the nobler and wealthier class."
"So!" murmured Zabern. "Their plot of the barricades having been forestalled and thwarted, the enemy are resorting to new manœuvres."
"Some are in uniform, and some in court dress, and hence they are armed with swords. If we should attempt to expel them there will be opposition, tumult, possibly bloodshed. What's to be done?"
"At present, nothing. Let us, if possible, avoid a riot. If they choose to remain orderly, good; but if it be their object to oppose the coronation by armed force, then their blood be upon their own heads."
"And the multitude at the northern porch?"
"Will have to remain there, I fear," replied Zabern, shrugging his shoulders.
He passed from the porch to the interior of the edifice.
The scene within fairly dazzled the eye. The richdresses of the ladies, the splendid military costumes of the men, formed a picture glowing with color; on all sides were to be seen the sparkle of jewels and the gleam of scarlet and gold.
As Zabern slowly made his way towards his allotted seat in the choir, he did not fail to notice certain mocking glances cast at him by the occupants of the northern transept. Mischief was evidently the object of their assembling; but inasmuch as they were inferior in number to the Poles present, and as a word on his part could instantly set in motion the military both inside and outside the cathedral, Zabern viewed this Muscovite gathering without any alarm.
The chancel, elevated considerably above the general level of the cathedral-pavement, was the cynosure of all eyes.
On the altar were the sacramental vessels, the princely regalia, and the document supposed to be the original Czernovese Charter, never publicly exhibited, except at a coronation.
To the left of the altar was an oaken chair in which the princess would sit, till the time came for her to take her place on the throne.
Respectively north and south of the altar, and each vying with the other in splendor of vestment, stood the two ecclesiastics who were to officiate in the ceremony, the Greek Archpastor Mosco, and the mitred Abbot Faustus; the latter a good man, and a stern old patriot, quite capable, as Zabern had said, of blowing himself to fragments, if Polish interests should require such sacrifice.
While Zabern from his place was intently studying the occupants of the northern transept, under the belief that the Czar was concealed somewhere among them, a small door in the left wall of the choir opened, and Barbara entered, bare-headed, and clothed in her coronation-robe,—avestment of purple velvet, bordered with ermine, and gleaming with pearls. Four ladies attended her as train-bearers.
Awed by the solemnity of the occasion, she was very pale, and with the glory of the sunlight illumining her figure as she moved forward with slow and majestic pace, she seemed to her adherents afar off like a fair vision from another world.
According to the prescribed ritual, the first part of the ceremony consisted in reading a chapter from one of the Four Evangelists, a duty which by previous arrangement fell to the lot of Mosco.
As soon, therefore, as Barbara had taken her place in the oaken chair, she glanced at the archpastor as a sign for him to begin.
Now great importance was attached both by the Poles and the Muscovites to this reading of the Gospel. The lection was neither appointed beforehand nor chosen by the ecclesiastic officiating; it was left to the guidance of chance, or rather, as the Czernovese themselves believed, to the will of the Deity. The lector, following a usage of mediæval times, was required to open the holy volume at random and to read the first chapter upon which his eye should happen to light. It was believed that the portion thus hit on would contain something applicable to the person crowned or even prophetic of the character of the reign.
As Mosco with dignified bearing moved to the lectern, he passed close to Zabern, whose quick ear instantly detected a peculiar sound beneath the archpastor's brocaded and jewelled cassock,—a sound which the marshal could liken only to the trail of a steel scabbard.
"As I live the fellow is armed," he muttered. "A holy prelate with a sword beneath his gown! There's treason here."
Zabern's first impulse was to spring up, and tearing offMosco's gown, to expose him to the assembly as an armed conspirator.
It might be, however, that, like himself, the archpastor anticipated that there would be rioting and fighting at the coronation, and hence he had as much right as others to carry arms for his own defence.
Zabern therefore refrained from violence, but his keen eyes were attentive to every movement of Mosco.
On the brazen lectern, which stood upon the edge of the choir, directly facing the assembly, lay a volume of the Four Evangelists, closed and clasped.