"Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining.Ave Maria! day is declining:Safety and innocence fly with the light:Temptation and danger walk forth with the night:From the fall of the shade till the matin shall chimeShield us from peril, and save us from crime.Ave Maria, audi nos!"
"Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining.
Ave Maria! day is declining:
Safety and innocence fly with the light:
Temptation and danger walk forth with the night:
From the fall of the shade till the matin shall chime
Shield us from peril, and save us from crime.
Ave Maria, audi nos!"
She formed a pretty picture as she sat there alone by the dusky-blue sea in the faint starlight, her dainty white-robed figure clearly outlined against the black rock.
"I'm the luckiest mortal living," muttered Paul. "By heaven! won't the fellows be dumb with surprise and envy when I mount the jetty-stairs at Corfu with Barbara upon my arm! And as for uncle, always an admirer of the ladies, he'll fairly worship her."
He pictured Colonel Graysteel's look of admiration, and caught his whispered aside: "By Jove, Paul, where did you find this lovely vestal? Lucky dog! no wonder you have stayed away so long!"
Barbara had followed Paul with her eyes, and now, on seeing him pause, she waved her hand prettily, while he, like a gallant lover, waved his in turn. Then, eager to despatch his quest and to return to her, he plunged into the wood, and Barbara was lost to view.
On reaching the temple, Paul quickly found the mantilla, but the brooch which should have been attached to it was missing. As the ornament was a valuable one he did not like to return without it, and he therefore began a search in the fading light.
Having spent ten minutes without success, he resolved to quit the task lest Barbara, sitting by the lonely shore, should become nervous at his long delay.
As he rose to his feet he looked upward, and found that the stars were invisible. A white mist like a ghost was floating over the isle.
Snatching up the mantilla, he dashed down through the woodland, and, but for the murmur of the sea, which served to direct his course, he would most certainly have missed his way.
As he drew near to the beach he called upon Barbara by name, but received no answer. This was puzzling, inasmuch as he was near the place where he had left her. Near? He was at the exact spot. There was the crag upon which she had been seated a few minutes previously, but of Barbara herself not a trace was visible.
Vainly did his eyes seek to pierce the veil of mist that hung around; every object more than a few feet distant was hidden from view.
The melancholy lapping of the waves over the sand was the only sound that broke the stillness.
Where was Barbara? Ah! alarmed perhaps by themist and by his long absence, she had left the shore to seek him, and had missed her way to the ruin. He would go back at once and find her.
He had just turned to retrace his steps, when suddenly from out the mist that overhung the sea there came a strange voice,—
"All ready? Give way, then. To Castel Nuovo!"
The words were immediately followed by the dip and roll of oars,—sounds that sent a thrill of horror through Paul's heart. In one swift moment he realized what was happening.
The Austrian gendarmerie sent by the convent authorities had come at last! Come? ay, and were going with their purpose accomplished!
Barbara, silent, perhaps because in a swoon, was in the hands of enemies who were carrying her off, and though her captors were but a few yards distant, he was unable to render her any aid. The suddenness, the stillness, the mysteriousness of it all was more appalling than the act of abduction itself.
Half-an-hour had not yet elapsed since Barbara had pressed her glowing lips to his. And now—and now—was ever lover's dream cut short so awfully and abruptly as this?
"Barbara! Barbara!" he cried in agony. "If you are there, speak."
Was he mistaken, or did he really hear his own name pronounced by a voice faintly sounding, as if the speaker's head were muffled within the folds of a cloak?
Following his first impulse, he dashed into the sea towards the point whence came the sound of the oars. Like a madman he leaped and plunged forward through mist and water with the desire of arresting the progress of the receding boat. Vain hope! He did not even obtain a glimpse of the boat, much less come up with it.
Not till the water surged breast-high around him didhe pause, and then he stood mechanically listening to the sound of the oar-sweep as it died away in the distance.
Recovering from his stupor he waded back to land, and sought the place where he had left his own boat.
It was gone!
It had either been taken in tow by Barbara's captors, or cast adrift in order to prevent him from giving trouble by following them.
The island had become his prison, inasmuch as he had no way of crossing to the mainland except by swimming, and though he might not have shrunk from a three-mile course in smooth water, the same distance across a sea-channel traversed by currents and covered by a thick fog was a very different matter.
Though every moment of detention diminished his hope of effecting Barbara's rescue, yet here he was, absolutely helpless, dependent for his release upon the chance passing of some fishing-boat.
He did not doubt—he could not doubt—that the abduction of Barbara was the work of Cardinal Ravenna, who had probably been apprised by Abbess Teresa of the flight of his youthfulprotégé. It was not likely that he would restore her to the Convent of the Holy Sacrament; some more secure establishment would be chosen, and, when Barbara was once immured by the authority of a powerful ecclesiastic, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to reach her. The only consoling feature in this dark affair was that the success of the cardinal's scheme, whatever its character, hung upon Barbara's life; so far she was safe, but the thought of the sufferings to which she might be subjected, in order to extort submission, drove Paul's mind to the verge of frenzy.
At midnight the mist began to lift almost as suddenly as it had come on. The whole blue arch of heaven became revealed. The moon was now at its full, and the cold, pallid light shone over the island with its darkwoods, and its ivory-white temple on the hill-top, the fallen shrine of love.
Paul mounted this hill and glanced over the sea in all directions; but his hope of seeing some barque in the vicinity of the isle was immediately extinguished. Not a sail was visible.
He had brought to the island a pair of field-glasses, and these he now directed over the channel that separated him from the Dalmatian mainland. The light was insufficient for the taking of distant observations; nevertheless, he came to the conclusion that a tiny light visible at a certain point on the coast marked the position of Castel Nuovo; and, aware that Barbara's captors must long ere this have reached their destination, this light became an object of deep interest. Without any reason whatever to guide him, he took up the belief that it marked the room in which she was detained for the night, and impressed by this fancy, he kept his eyes fixed upon it as wistfully as if it were the face of Barbara herself.
Suddenly the light vanished.
A very simple occurrence, and yet Paul had no sooner noted it than there came over him a trembling and a horror as great as if the extinction of that light had likewise involved the extinction of Barbara.
His mind was either playing him strange tricks, or else his hearing had become more than ordinarily acute. Sounds on the opposite coast seemed close at hand,—sounds of an eerie character.
The deep silence of the night was first broken by the fitful ringing of church bells; immediately afterwards came a series of reverberations which Paul could compare only with the rattling echoes produced by the discharge of artillery among lofty hills; and next there floated over the sea a prolonged cry like the wild shriek of some captured town.
Then all was still again.
What had happened along that moonlit coast?
Night waned. Morning dawned with all the fair golden glory of that southern clime.
On the shore of Isola Sacra stood a man, his gaze fixed eastward as it had been fixed ever since the growing light had enabled him to perceive distant objects with any degree of distinctness.
The British regiment at Corfu would have failed to recognize their captain in this man with his wild air, blood-shot eyes, and haggard face staring continually over the sea.
For the twentieth time his shaking hands raised the field-glasses.
Whenever he turned the binoculars to that point of coast where Castel Nuovo should have been, he found that Castel Nuovo was not there. Focus the glasses as he would, he could not detect a trace of the edifice. The blue sea seemed to be rolling over the site!
In like manner other landmarks along the coast had disappeared, notably a white lighthouse a few miles to the north of Castel Nuovo. The mountains, too, seemed to present an outline differing from that of the previous day.
Then the truth in all its ghastliness broke upon Paul, and, strong man though he was, he dropped upon the sands as one dead.
The explanation was simple and terrible.
During the night an earthquake had devastated the coast of Dalmatia; towns had been laid in ruins; scores of people had perished; and, among a crowd of minor catastrophes enumerated by the "Zara Times" of that week, was the complete submergence of a picturesque edifice, erected in the fourteenth century by the Doge Marino Faliero, and known by the name of Castel Nuovo!
"Here's to the Princess of Czernova!" cried Noel Trevisa,—a dark-eyed, handsome young fellow,—raising his glass as he spoke. "Have you seen her yet, Paul?"
Captain Cressingham, or to use the new name assumed by him on the death of a relative, Captain Woodville, smiled at the enthusiasm with which his friend proposed the toast.
"I entered Slavowitz only last evening," he replied, "and have already been asked that question six times. It seems to be the first one put to a visitor."
"And when you have seen her you will cease to wonder at the pride of the Czernovese in their princess. Natalie Lilieska is more than beautiful,—she is Beauty's self."
This interchange took place on an elevated balcony of the Hôtel de Varsovie, the principal establishment of its kind in Slavowitz, the picturesque capital of the old Polish principality of Czernova.
Between Paul and his companion stood a marble-topped table decorated with a bottle of Chartreuse and a box of cigars, and in the quiet enjoyment of these luxuries the two Englishmen yielded themselves to lazy abandon in the soft sunshine of a spring morning, watching the gay current of Czernovese life as it flowed along the boulevard beneath their feet.
Two years had elapsed since the night when Barbara had been carried off to perish, as Paul believed, in the engulfing of Castel Nuovo.
A fishing-barque passing by next morning had taken Paul from the island; its arrival was timely, for the vessel had scarcely gone half-a-mile when the sea became violently agitated, and Isola Sacra itself disappeared beneath the waves. The frightened fishermen, perceiving that the force of the earthquake was not yet spent, refused to put in on the Dalmatian coast, believing it to be safer on water than on land. For four-and-twenty hours they kept out on the deep, disembarking only when they deemed the peril past.
The moment Paul touched land he made his way to the vicinity of Castel Nuovo, and found its site covered by the sea. Must he believe that the last resting-place of Barbara was fathoms deep below these waves? He rowed to and fro over the spot, peering through the singularly transparent water, and sometimes fancying that he could discern the ghostly outline of towers and battlements.
Had Barbara really been lodged at Castel Nuovo during the night of the earthquake, or at some other place?
Inquiries carried on by him within a wide area around Castel Nuovo yielded no tidings as to the missing maiden. Barbara, Jacintha, Lambro, were like the shadows of a past dream.
Blank despair settled upon Paul. Life seemed scarcely worth living.
Then came news that the British troops stationed at Corfu had been ordered to India to suppress a rising among the hill-tribes of the frontier.
Paul, whose first impulse had been to resign his commission, now decided to accompany his regiment lest his retirement on the eve of war should be attributed to a spirit of cowardice. The fierce thrill of fighting mighthelp to drown the memory of Barbara—for a time. And since life without her was hard to bear, he cherished the hope that an Afghan spear might give him the death he desired.
On his arrival at Corfu, Paul learned that, owing to the death of a wealthy aunt, he was now master of considerable landed property in Kent, subject to the condition that he should assume his relative's name of Woodville. Paul mechanically acquiesced, and was henceforth gazetted as "Captain Woodville."
"Cressingham or Woodville, what matters?" he said. "Soon to be a little dust, I hope."
This legal formality over, he hurried off to India.
In the campaign that followed he did not die; on the contrary, he lived to gain a brilliant reputation,—a reputation destined, though he foresaw it not, to stand him in good stead during a political crisis of the future.
In a small border-fortress he found himself one of a garrison of four hundred men besieged by an Afghan force twenty times its own number.
It was winter, and the mountain-passes were filled with snow.
Weeks must elapse ere relief could come. Scantily provided with artillery, their provisions running out, sleepless from incessant attacks, the heroic little band kept grimly to the work.
Early in the siege the major in command, with two or three officers, yielding to a spirit of fear strange in English soldiers, proposed in council an unconditional surrender.
"We were sent here," said Paul, darkly and haughtily, "to hold the fortress, not to cede it. If you do not know your duty, Major, there are those who will teach it you. I will shoot the first man that talks again of surrender, be he commandant or be he private."
And without delay Paul took strong measures. Heput his own superior, together with the recreant officers, under arrest, and he himself took the command. Upon this there arose from the garrison, when informed of what had taken place, a ringing British cheer that startled the enemy in their distant entrenchments.
Paul henceforth was the soul of the fight,—at the head of every sortie, charging the enemy regardless of their number. The garrison attributed his conduct to sheer devilry; it was, in truth, the despairing mood of a man bent on finding death.
Ever amid the clash of arms he seemed to see before him the beautiful face of her whom he had lost, and scarcely conscious of the fact, he would cry "Barbara! Barbara!" to the bewilderment of his men. The wild Afghans shrank back in dismay whenever the "Feringhee devil" turned his dripping sabre in their direction, deeming the "bar-bar-a" uttered by him to be a magic spell capable of dealing death around.
When at last the long-desired relief came, and the story of the heroic defence of Tajapore became known to the world, Paul found that he had unintentionally become a famous person.
At the end of his second year in India Paul made a remarkable discovery.
Up till that time he had entertained the belief that Cardinal Ravenna had perished in the Dalmatian earthquake, though strange as it may appear, he had not thought of putting his opinion to the proof by ascertaining whether the Sacred College had actually lost a member in the year '45. However, being in the club-room at Poonah one day, he happened to be glancing over a continental newspaper, when his eye was caught by the following paragraph,—
"The Pope has been pleased to appoint Cardinal Ravenna to the archiepiscopal see of Slavowitz."
Paul laid down the paper trembling with new hope.If the cardinal had survived the earthquake, why should not Barbara likewise? Could it be that she was really alive?
Till that moment Paul had been ignorant of the name of Slavowitz, but a reference to a dictionary of geography informed him that it was the capital of Czernova, the latter being a small independent state on the borders of Austria and Russia.
He resolved to set off immediately for this principality, for the purpose of interviewing the dark-dealing cardinal in whose breast was contained the secret of Barbara's history.
Two years' assiduous attention to duty easily earned for Paul a long furlough. He quitted India, arrived at Alexandria, and took ship for Constantinople; thence travelling post-haste day and night he threaded the passes of the Balkans, crossed the Danube, traversed the forests of the Carpathians, and finally arrived at Slavowitz late at night, where he was much disappointed to learn that the new archbishop was absent from his see, having gone on a journey to Rome, his return, however, being daily expected.
Paul determined to await his coming.
On this, his first morning at Slavowitz, while gazing from the balcony of his hotel, he caught sight of an old college chum in the person of Noel Trevisa.
Paul immediately cried to him by name, and in a moment more the two friends were sitting together renewing old memories; and great were Trevisa's surprise and admiration on learning that the Captain Woodville whose name had become familiar to all Europe, was the same as his old friend, Paul Cressingham.
"And what has brought you to this city?" inquired Paul, when the other had drunk his toast to the fair ruler of Czernova.
"This city is my adopted home. Formerly professorof English at the university of Slavowitz, I am now private secretary to the loveliest princess in Europe, and occupy a suite of apartments in the palace."
"Accept my congratulations. How did you, a foreigner here, obtain the post?"
"Thaddeus the Good—"
"Who is he?"
"Was, my dear fellow—'was' is the word, inasmuch as he is no more—the late Prince of Czernova, her Highness's father. He died six months ago."
"I understand. Proceed."
"Prince Thaddeus, about two years ago, offered me the post of tutor to his daughter Natalie. I was to instruct her in English Literature and English Constitutional History. Naturally I did not refuse so charming a student. When a few months later her secretary resigned through ill-health, the princess installed me in his place, where I am proud to be. I wish I could persuade you too, Paul, to take service under her Highness."
"What! Accept command in a toy army destined never to smell powder! All thanks to you, Noel, but I prefer to remain with the old Twenty-fourth."
"That's a pity, for the princess is very desirous of officering her army with men experienced in warfare. And of all nationalities she seems to prefer the English. On her return from Dalmatia—"
"From where?" interrupted Paul, sharply.
"From Dalmatia. Why shouldn't she go there?" retorted Trevisa, aggressively.
"Why not, indeed? And how long is it since she returned from Dalmatia?"
"About two years."
"Ha! proceed."
Paul's strange manner led Trevisa to wonder whether his head had not become affected by his two years' residence in the tropics.
"Well, as I was about to say, after her return from Dalmatia, one of the first acts of the princess was to appoint a new uniform for her body-guard. Accordingly sketches of the various costumes worn in the different European armies were laid before her. You, my dear Paul, ought to feel honored by her selection."
"Why so?"
"Because the uniform she chose is one so like your own that for my part I fail to detect the difference. As you walk through the streets of Slavowitz you will certainly be taken for one of hercorps du garde, known as the Blue Legion."
A strange suspicion entered Paul's mind.
"How old is the Princess Natalie?"
"She celebrated her nineteenth birthday last week."
"Barbara, if she were living, would be twenty-one by this time," murmured Paul to himself; and then aloud he added: "And you say that the princess is very beautiful?"
"Be thyself the judge," smiled Trevisa. "Within a quarter of an hour from now she will pass along this boulevard on her way to the Mazeppa Gardens. From the balcony here you will have a good view of her."
"Haven't you her portrait upon you?"
"At present I have with me no other likeness than this."
And here Trevisa drew forth a gold-piece, bright as if fresh from the mint.
"The new coinage, issued this week. Reverse—the double-headed eagle, the ancient arms of Poland. Obverse—the profile of the princess with the legend 'Natalia, Princeps Czern. Amat. Patr.' 'Natalie, Princess of Czernova, Lover of her Country.' Did the goddess Athene carry a more dainty head than this?"
Paul took the coin, glanced at the obverse, and then sat in a state wavering between belief and unbelief.
Was this golden disc really stamped with the head ofBarbara? So it seemed to Paul. At any rate, if her profile had been engraved on metal with due regard to fidelity, it would have differed little or nothing from that on the coin.
Then a new idea seized him, and one more consonant with probability. Was this the profile of the maiden whose portrait he had seen in the cardinal's secret study at Castel Nuovo—the maiden with the laughing eyes, the sceptre and the diadem?
"A graceful head, a very graceful head," he remarked, returning the coin. "I should like to hear more of the fair lady."
"As many questions as you please."
"First, where did the Princess Natalie pass her childhood and youth?"
"Here in the city of Slavowitz and its vicinity. Of course she has had her travels like the rest of us, and has visited different European countries, but, speaking generally, she was reared and educated in the Vistula Palace, whose towers you can see rising behind yon cathedral spire."
Clearly not Barbara, for Barbara had spent her earlier years at Warsaw, her later in the Illyrian Convent of the Holy Sacrament.
"And what of her visit to Dalmatia?"
"That was undertaken two and a half years ago; at that time she was in a delicate state of health, and the physicians recommended a tour around the Adriatic. She travelled incognito with a slender suite under the care of Cardinal Ravenna."
"Who took her, among other places," thought Paul, "to Castel Nuovo, as is proved by the fragment of lace in the secret corridor."
"This tour was productive of singular results," continued Trevisa, musingly.
"In what way?"
"Well, it was to have lasted three months, but it was extended to six; and when the princess returned she was an altered being; I do not mean in appearance, I refer to her character."
Light began to dawn upon Paul. The Princess Natalie had not returned to Czernova; instead there had come her living image—Barbara!
"What remarkable development had the princess's character undergone?"
"Beforetime she was a gay and vivacious maiden. She returned grave and sedate. This change was attributed to the earthquake."
"The earthquake?"
"Yes. Don't you remember the great upheaval on the Dalmatian littoral two years ago?"
"Ah! I remember something of the sort, now I come to think of it."
"Well, the terrible scenes witnessed by Princess Natalie, together with her own nearness to death, seem to have sobered her from girlhood into womanhood. From that time she began to take a keen interest in state affairs, which she had previously regarded as boredom."
"Barbara was keenly interested in politics," thought Paul.
"Beforetime her predilections, if she had any, were in favor of Russia. She returned divested of her Muscovite sympathies."
"Barbara was decidedly an anti-Muscovite," thought Paul.
"But the greatest change—"
"Yes, the greatest change—?" repeated Paul, observing that the other had stopped short in his utterance with the air of one about to be betrayed into an imprudent statement.
As Trevisa did not reply, Paul drew a bow at a venture.
"The princess was reared in the Greek faith, I amgiven to understand? Humph! what was Prince Thaddeus thinking of when he placed his daughter under the tutelage of Cardinal Ravenna? One can guess the result. The princess went away a Greek, and came back a Catholic. Is it not so?"
"Hush!" muttered Trevisa, glancing around in some trepidation. "Yes, that is so. You have hit on a state secret, communicated only to her cabinet, and to me—her secretary. But, Paul, breathe not a word of this to any one, for the knowledge of it would shake her throne, and—"
He paused. There was a sudden commotion in the street below. Pedestrians had stopped in their walk, and were crowding to the edge of the pavement with their faces all set in one direction, whence came the distant sound of cheering and of clapping hands. The applause rolled increscendoalong the boulevards, advancing nearer each moment to the two friends.
"Here comes the princess!" cried Trevisa, springing to his feet. Paul felt his heart beating as it had never beat before when he turned his eyes towards the approaching cavalcade.
First came a detachment of Polish uhlans, their burnished lances glittering in the morning sunshine, and the points decorated with black pennons that fluttered in the breeze.
The handsome regimentals of thiscorps du garde, the Blue Legion, promptly drew from Paul the remark,—
"Why, their uniform is the same as the Twenty-fourth Kentish!"
"A remark previously made by me," observed Trevisa, drily. "You are singularly forgetful, Paul."
On came the lancers at a swinging trot, followed by an open landau containing the princess.
A moment more and this carriage was abreast of the hotel, and as if fortune were favoring Paul, the vehiclewas brought to a sudden stand-still opposite the balcony on which he stood.
The equipage was a dainty one, lined with pale blue silk, the arms of Poland gleaming in gold from the polished sable panel. The fine black horses, with coats like shining satin, were decked in silver harness.
But Paul saw nothing of this equipage; his eyes were set upon its occupant.
There, seated in graceful state, with silken sunshade poised above her head, and responsive to the plaudits of the people by sweet smiles and a courteous bending of her head, was—the youthful and beautiful Barbara!
The supreme joy of realizing that she was actually living so affected Paul that for a moment the whole street—Barbara, soldiers, people, buildings—became a confused swimming vision. A sound like the murmur of many waters filled his ears.
With difficulty he controlled his first impulse to descend the hotel steps, crying "Barbara! Barbara!" It set his teeth on edge afterwards when he recalled how near he had come to making a fool of himself. No, his first interview with her must not take place in the open street before a wondering, gaping throng.
Fearing lest she should glance upwards and recognize him, Paul drew aside behind a screen of aloes that decorated the balcony, and continued to watch.
Yes, it was truly Barbara. The convent-fugitive who had strolled with him through the pine-woods of Dalmatia, the Polish maiden whom he had held in his arms had become a real princess with a court, ministers, and an army at her command. The wonderment of it all! And though she had spent nearly a third of her life in a convent, yet there she sat with the air of one born in the purple. It was amazing, nay, charming, to mark the dignity and the ease with which she carried herself in her new state.
The landau of the princess had been stopped before the Hôtel de Varsovie in order to enable her to address two pedestrians, who, judging from the respect paid to them by the crowd, were persons of distinction in the little world of Czernova.
The first was an elderly, silver-haired man of fine presence, and distinguished by a stately, old-fashioned courtesy.
"Count Radzivil," replied Trevisa, in answer to Paul's question. "The prime minister of Czernova, brother of the celebrated Michael, who commanded the Polish insurgents of '30."
As the premier was old enough to be Barbara's grandfather, Paul could afford to view him with composure; but the case was very different with the other individual.
He was a man of lofty stature, and of broad, massive build, with a dark, handsome face set off with black eyes and a black beard. The sunbeams toyed with the silver eagle upon his helmet. His splendid uniform glittered with gold lace, stars, and orders. He carried himself erect, his left hand resting upon the hilt of his sabre; and it was clear that both in his own opinion, and also in the opinion of the crowd, he was a very grand personage indeed.
"Who's His Serene Tallness?"
"John the Strong, Duke of Bora, commander of the Czernovese army, a member of the cabinet, and the heir-apparent to the crown. He is first cousin to the princess, and likewise a near kinsman of the Czar."
Envy and misgiving stole over Paul as he contrasted his own inferior rank with that of the imperially-connected Bora. Barbara was bending forward in her carriage, laughing pleasantly, and apparently holding an animated conversation with the duke. One might almost have thought that she was exerting all her arts to please him.
Paul surveyed him more attentively, and quicklygauged his character,—an individual naturally sullen, of a somewhat slow intellect, yet not without ambition; a man upon whom the graces and restraints of polite life lay but lightly; a little provocation, and the savage would soon be in evidence. What could Barbara find in this man to interest her?
"Bora seems on excellent terms with the princess," said Paul.
"Naturally, seeing that he is to marry her."
"What?"
Paul's intonation was so sharp that Trevisa turned to survey him.
"Why, Paul, how white you're grown!"
"Merely a pang from an old wound. But your princess; she can't entertain any real love forthatfellow."
"Love was never fashionable at courts," smiled Trevisa. His words jarred upon Paul. If Barbara had become such that she could marry without any love on her side, then her nature must have sadly changed from what it was in the old sweet days at Castel Nuovo.
"It is amariage de convenance," continued Trevisa, "tending to secure her position on the throne, and—but see, she is about to set off again."
The princess, having finished her conversation, drew off her right glove and extended her fair jewelled hand to the duke with a smile and graciousness of manner that roused all the jealousy in Paul's nature.
"She has forgotten me," he murmured bitterly. "Well, of course, she thinks me dead; but even if she knew otherwise, it is not likely that she will pay much regard to me now. And yet what were her words to me on the day that we were parted? 'If I were an empress, Paul, I would be your wife.' Humph! we shall see."
Bora raised the delicate hand to his lips amid the applause of the crowd, who seemed to regard the incident as a very pretty tableau.
Count Radzivil lifted his hat with courtly grace, and the next moment the landau was gliding smoothly along the Boulevard de Cracovie, followed by a detachment of cavalry similar in equipments to that which had preceded it.
Paul was left a victim to perplexing thoughts.
What had become of the real Princess Natalie, and why had Barbara assumed the name, title, and sceptre of the daughter of Thaddeus, personating the character with such art and tact as apparently to defy detection, since Trevisa, though long resident in Czernova, had no suspicion of the substitution that had taken place?
Had Barbara a just title to the throne? Recalling her air as she sat in the landau, Paul felt that he could not associate the appropriation of another's heritage with that winsome and dignified presence. No, difficult though it was to explain her conduct, he would believe anything rather than that she was a conscious and willing usurper.
"Well," said Trevisa, puzzled by Paul's long silence, "what think you of this fair vestal throned in the east?"
"My wonder is how you, her private secretary, compelled by your office to attend her daily, have avoided falling in love with her."
"By steeling my heart and playing the philosopher. Princesses are not for common mortals like myself. Give me blue blood and a title, and I might aspire. The sovereign of Czernova must not marry a commoner, on pain of forfeiture of the crown. Her consort must be one of royal or noble birth."
"Ah! is that the law?" asked Paul, with affected carelessness.
"So runneth the statute of Czernova," replied the secretary.
"The sovereign must not marry a commoner!" Why had he come to Czernova? Better to have remained in ignorance of her fate, than, on finding her, to learn that she could never be his.
"You said," he remarked, after an interval of silence, "that the marriage of the princess with the duke will secure the stability of her throne. In what way?"
"The explanation will require a long lecture on Czernovese politics. You will esteem me a bore."
"Not at all. Go on."
"To begin then. This principality of Czernova represents the last fragment of the ancient kingdom of Poland;it is one of the old palatinates, and the Lilieskis were its palatines.
"On the fall of Poland, in 1795, Czernova formed part of the share allotted to Russia, and received exceptional treatment from that power, the reason being that the Lilieski of that day, a handsome young fellow, was one of the favorites of the Empress Catherine. She not only permitted him to retain his palatinate, but even created him Prince, and set her hand and seal to a new constitution framed by Lilieski himself, which conferred upon Czernova all the rights of a free and independent state. The Russians of to-day aver that the Empress must have signed the document without reading it, or at least without understanding what she was granting. Be that as it may, the Poles of Czernova, having obtained a Charter of Liberty, have resolutely refused to assent to any modification of its provisions."
"But seeing that Russia is a hundred times the stronger, what has prevented her from annexing Czernova?"
"The rescript of the Congress of Vienna to the effect that 'Czernova shall be governed according to the Charter granted by Catherine II.' The Powers are therefore pledged to maintain thestatus quo.
"So much for the political frame-work. Now for the people.
"The Czernovese consist of diverse elements, but the two chief nationalities are Poles and Muscovites.
"The Poles are the original inhabitants of the country, passionately attached to their liberty, and Catholics to a man. They form a majority in the principality; but for the two past decades there has been a steady influx of immigrants from Russia, which, if continued in the same ratio, will inevitably result in the Russification of Czernova.
"These Muscovites, it need scarcely be said, belong tothe Greek Church, the head of which is the Czar; their sympathies are of course pro-Russian, and if the Emperor Nicholas were to prepare to-morrow for annexation very few of them would lift a finger to prevent it.
"Here, then, is the crux of the political situation.
"Czernova is occupied by two races alien in blood, language, religion and ideals. They can no more unite than fire with water. In the Diet, Poles and Muscovites form two hostile factions; the debates are acrimonious; swords are sometimes drawn, and the scenes occurring lack none of the fiery picturesqueness that was wont to characterize the old Polish Diet of Warsaw."
"A difficult matter," interjected Paul, "to find a ruler who shall be acceptable to both factions."
"Well, as things are at present," replied Trevisa, emphasizing the last two words, "the Princess Natalie satisfies the requirement. The Poles love her for her nationality; and the Muscovites, if they do not love, are at least disposed to tolerate a ruler whom they believe to be a member of their own Church. It is a guarantee that their own creed will not be persecuted, for you know how intolerantly the Roman Church behaved in old Poland.
"Now it is the princess's secret faith which constitutes the coming peril.
"When the Muscovites learn that she is a Catholic—and the truth cannot remain much longer hidden—it is doubtful whether their loyalty will be able to stand the shock. They may rise in arms and endeavor to seat the Duke of Bora on the throne, who has three recommendations in their eyes; he is of the Greek Church, a Muscovite on the mother's side, and connected, as I have said, with the blood-imperial of Russia.
"Hence, in the opinion of the cabinet, the necessity for the marriage of the princess with the duke; their joint occupation of the throne is the only thing that can keep Pole and Muscovite from cutting each other's throats. Ason born of this marriage will tend to unite the interests of both parties."
Barbara with a son! And by the duke! The thought set Paul's blood on fire.
"The cabinet of course are united on the question of this marriage?" he asked.
"They mayn't like it, but, as I have said, they feel its necessity. I can name two ministers, however, who, outwardly assenting, are secretly opposing the match."
"And they are—?"
"Cardinal Ravenna and Marshal Zabern."
Ravenna! It was rather surprising to find Barbara including among her ministry the ecclesiastic who had formerly inspired her with aversion. Then Paul's surprise ceased when he reflected that the cardinal was master of her secret history, and would therefore require to be conciliated. An uneasy suspicion began to form in his mind that Barbara was the innocent victim of a Jesuitical conspiracy—that she had been duped into believing herself a princess by ecclesiastics who intended to make use of her as a tool.
"A Latin cardinal," he said. "I can understand that he would oppose the marrying of the princess to a Greek heretic. But Zabern—who is he?"
Trevisa smiled.
"You will not be long in Czernova without learning who Zabern is. He is the Warden of the Charter, the most subtle character in the cabinet, the idol of the Czernovese Poles, whose motto is 'Trust in God and Zabern—especially Zabern.' Ask the Muscovites who Zabern is, and they will blaspheme and tell you that he is the incarnation of the devil. And as the slaying of the devil would be a holy act, their pious attentions in this respect have compelled the marshal to go about with chain-mail beneath his clothing."
"And Zabern, you say, is opposed to the match? Butif the princess has set her mind upon it, how does Zabern propose to play his game?"
"His first card is the Pope."
"The Pope?"
"Yes. The princess, being a Catholic, is debarred by the canons of her Church from marrying the duke, inasmuch as he is her first cousin. The papal dispensation is necessary before the union can be celebrated."
"And should the Holy Father refuse to grant it?"
Trevisa's face assumed a very grave expression.
"Then the princess will indeed be in a dilemma. If she marries without papal sanction the union will be deemed null and void by her Catholic subjects. All the Polish clergy will be set against her, and you know what that means. On the other hand, if she submits to the will of the Pope, and dismisses her ducal suitor, she will put herself in grave peril. The coronation takes place within four months from now, and the Muscovites are fully expecting to see the duke seated side by side with her in that ceremony. Disappointment will cause an armed rising on their part, and then—and then—I greatly fear there will be an end to the princess's rule."
"How so? Why should not her adherents prevail?"
"They would, if left to themselves, for they are the more numerous party. But, behind the Muscovite faction, and filling the minds of the ministers with secret fear, looms the colossal shadow of the Czar. If there should be riots, and the Poles should take to burning and killing, the Muscovites will cry to Nicholas to protect his own kith and kin, and then, good-bye to Czernovese liberty. The Czar will have what he has so long sought—a pretext for annexation. Heaven avert such a calamity, but one cannot prophesy a bright future for Czernova unless this marriage takes place."
Trevisa had scarcely finished this exposition of Czernovese politics when he happened to see a lady well knownto him entering the hotel. Asking Paul to excuse his absence for a few minutes, he went off to pay his devoirs.
Paul, not unwilling to be left alone, sat thinking of Barbara. What would be the state of her feelings when she learned that he was alive? She had accepted his love prior to the knowledge of her high rank. It was not likely that under her changed circumstances she would consider herself bound by her past promises. Granting, however, that she still loved him; granting that the Duke of Bora would be so heroic as to efface himself, marriage was impossible without the forfeiture of that sceptre, which rightfully or wrongfully she now held, and to this sacrifice Paul felt that he could never consent, even if Barbara herself were willing.
His duty was clear. He must live his life apart from her. But before he left Czernova he must have an interview with her. He must see her once more face to face and alone, and he thought of this meeting with feelings of pleasure and pain.
Looking up from this reverie, whom should he see at a little distance but the Duke of Bora, attended by Count Radzivil. The pair were making their way along the balcony of the hotel, apparently with the intention of taking a seat or calling for wine at one of the many little tables spread about.
As the duke drew near, a spirit of latent defiance took possession of Paul. This was the man destined to rob him of Barbara—Barbara who belonged of prior right to himself. It was clearly state-policy that dictated her attitude towards the duke. Paul found it impossible to believe that the delicately-minded and intellectual Barbara could feel any genuine love for this great, clumsy barbarian.
"Let him keep to Natalie, and leave me Barbara. What sort of a lover must he be? Where were his eyes two years ago, that he did not perceive that the returning princesswas not his first love? Barbara must have played her part well so to impose upon him. But was he deceived? Does he know the truth, and knowing, make use of it to intimidate Barbara into marrying him?"
A thought which did not tend to increase Paul's amiability.
As the duke passed he eyed Paul askance, and then wheeling round with a suddenness that formed a marked contrast with his previous slowness, he exclaimed in a voice of thunder,—
"You have neither stood nor saluted, sir!"
Paul regarded the fierce Bora with a look of calm surprise. What right had this Czernovese grandee to demand a salute from him—an English officer?
"You have neither stood nor saluted, sir!"
"Why should I?"
The duke's black eyes flashed savagely; his face grew as dark as night.
"Are you mad or drunk? Report yourself a prisoner at the Citadel."
"Again I ask, why should I?"
Bora gripped his sword-handle with an air compounded of amazement and fury. A whispered word from Radzivil seemed to exercise a moderating effect upon him.
"Permit me to give my name," said the minister, stepping forward with a courteous bearing. "I am Count Radzivil, premier of Czernova. May I ask a like favor?"
"I am an Englishman, Captain Woodville of the 24th Kentish. May I ask who is this—ah!—gentleman?"
An Englishman! Bora immediately recognized his error. Misled by Paul's uniform he had taken him for one of his own officers. The duke could ill bear ridicule, and if this story got abroad he would be the laughingstock of Czernova.
"Permit me to reveal my dignity," he began stiffly.
"Your—? But proceed, sir."
"I am the Duke of Bora, commander-in-chief of the Czernovese army. Your English uniform being so similar to the Czernovese—"
"Pardon me. You mean that the Czernovese is so similar to the English."
"That I not unreasonably took you for a Czernovese officer."
And with a scowl the duke drew aside, deeming that he made a sufficient apology, and Paul, had he chosen, might have boasted that he was the only man who had ever drawn an apology from the duke.
"Woodville? Woodville?" murmured the premier with a musing air. "Surely not the Captain Woodville who conducted the defence of the Afghan fortress of Tajapore?"
"The same," replied Paul modestly.
The duke glanced askance at Paul with a feeling of jealousy, the mean jealousy of the man who had done Nothing, against the man who had done Something.
Paul's breast was without a single decoration. The duke's breast was a glitter of stars and crosses, none of which had been gained by actual service in war. Bora felt the irony of the contrast, and grew more bitter. Radzivil, however, was full of genuine affability.
"Captain Woodville, it gives me great pleasure to meet you," he said, extending his hand. "Had we known of your intention to visit Czernova you should have been met with a guard of honor, and received in a manner worthy of your fame. It was wrong of you to slip privately into Slavowitz. Englishmen are always welcome at the court of the princess. The princess, sir, takes a great interest in English affairs, so much so that some of our free-speaking newspapers (for as you are perhaps aware, we have no censorship of the press in Czernova) have ventured to term her an Anglomaniac; Anglophile would be a more suitable term. At her initiative we havemodelled the forms of our Diet upon the lines of your House of Commons. For example, we give three readings to a Bill. The princess has a great admiration for the English. You may not know that she has an Englishman for her private secretary."
"You allude to Trevisa. My friend, count. We studied together at the same university."
"Really now, this is a very interesting coincidence," said Radzivil, tapping his snuff-box pleasantly. "Your grace," he added, turning to the duke, "Captain Woodville is an old friend of Trevisa's."
But Bora affected not to hear. He hated the secretary, and as a corollary, all who were the friends of the secretary.
"Trevisa is an admirable acquisition," continued the premier, "and has done us good service in many ways. Your grace remembers that important cipher despatch which fell into our hands some time ago. It baffled the experts. But Trevisa succeeded in unravelling it. He is the author of a work on cryptography, I believe, though I am ashamed to say I haven't yet read it. The princess has no more loyal servant than Trevisa. He is more Czernovese than the Czernovese themselves, and will take a pride in describing to you the resources of our little state. We may not count for much among the Great Powers, but we are a good deal stronger than most people suppose."
"'Esse quam videri,'" smiled Paul.
"Your grace, Captain Woodville honors you. He is quoting the motto of the ducal House of Bora."
Now this little Latin sentence was the same as that inscribed on the golden band of the seal which Paul had found in the secret corridor of Castel Nuovo.
He happened at that moment to be wearing the signet affixed to his watch-chain, and scarcely knowing that he did so, he drew it forth and looked at it.
The duke, attentive to Paul's action, caught sight of the sparkling sapphire. He started, took a step forward—another—a third—his eyes all the time resting upon the gem.
"How came you possessed of that seal?"
There was something so peculiarly aggressive in the duke's manner that an angry retort trembled on Paul's lips.
"Did you not receive it from a lady?"
Then the truth flashed upon Paul. This signet must have belonged to the duke, inasmuch as it bore his motto. An historic heirloom, it had been given by him to the Princess Natalie, and had been lost by her in the secret passage where Paul had found it. No wonder that Bora was incensed at its re-appearance in this fashion! Jealousy caused him to draw an altogether erroneous conclusion, and unfortunately it was impossible for Paul to set him right without entering into the particulars of his sojourn at Castel Nuovo.
"A lady gave you that ring."
"There your grace errs."
"That's a lie," cried Bora savagely.
"Softly, your grace," remonstrated Radzivil, glancing nervously around. "Let us have no scandal in public." With difficulty Paul restrained his anger.
"Your grace's language is extremely offensive, but I am willing to make all allowances. I do not wish to quarrel with you. This seal was not given to me by a lady. I found it, and you claim it as yours. I am quite willing to restore it."
Bora took Paul's self-restraint for cowardice.
"You found it? Where? When? Under what circumstances?"
"Those are questions that I must decline to answer."
"You refuse?"
"Most certainly."
"Then you shall fight me."
Paul, thoroughly roused by the duke's arrogant manner, was not at all averse to accepting this challenge.
Then he thought of Barbara. The affair could not be hidden. She would learn that his first act on coming into Czernova was to fight a duel with her future consort. He would thus appear in her eyes as a brawling swashbuckler presuming on her affection to protect him from the consequences of his acts.
"No, your grace, I shall not fight," he replied quietly.
"Finding it easier to meet Afghans than a Czernovese," sneered Bora. "Have you ever noticed, Radzivil, how brave these English are against all the savage races of the world,—how reluctant to face the European? If you will not fight I cannot, of course, compel you. But I can at least brand you as a coward."
And lifting the cane that he carried he brought it down heavily across Paul's cheek.
"Your grace!" exclaimed Radzivil, and filled with disgust and anger he walked away to the far end of the balcony.
The bronze had faded from Paul's face leaving it deadly white save for a livid stripe on the left cheek.
"Will you fight me now?" said the duke with a sneering smile and raising his cane again, "or does your cowardice require a further stimulus?"
"Fight you? Yes, by heaven!" said Paul, with a deep inspiration. "Send your second here without delay to meet mine. I hold no further parley with you. My sword shall speak for me."
A gleam of ferocious joy passed over the duke's face.
"My second shall attend yours within an hour. But first a caution to Radzivil. He hath too talkative a tongue, and this matter must be kept secret."
He turned from Paul, who sat down, the cynosure of many eyes. The loungers on the balcony, the hotel-attendants,the passers-by on the boulevard, had seen the duke's action, and concluded that in his usual sweet fashion he was simply chastising the impertinence of one of his own subordinates.
And as Paul sat there thinking, first of the insult he had received, and then of the fair, graceful head of Barbara pillowed on the breast of this savage, he felt the devil of hatred rising within him.
"By God, I'll kill him!" he muttered between his set teeth. "I shall be doing Barbara a service. He to marry her, forsooth!"
The Duke of Bora, not at all ashamed of his display of passion, vexed only that Radzivil should have shown such marked disapproval, moved forward to the table where the premier sat with wine before him.
The latter durst offer no more than mild remonstrances, for he occupied a delicate position. It was not polite to make an enemy of one destined to be the Prince Consort of Czernova.
"Your grace, you forget that duelling is forbidden by the law."
"I am the heir-apparent, and above the law," returned Bora haughtily.
"You will not find the princess taking that view of the matter. Remember how earnest she was in advocating the Anti-duelling Act. For one of her own ministers to fly in the face of it is to treat her with contempt. Your grace is acting very unwisely—acting in a manner, pardon me for saying it, that may lead to the forfeiture of her hand."
"Bah! my good Radzivil, be but discreet and she will never hear of it. Remember," he added with a menacing air, "if her Highness becomes cognizant of this affair I shall know who was her informant."
He tossed off a glass of wine, and shot a ferocious glance in Paul's direction.
"Who could avoid blazing forth?" he presently remarked. "Do you know, Radzivil, that that sapphire seal was a gift of mine to Natalie? Whenever I have had occasion to refer to it she has looked embarrassed—why?"
"Probably because she lost it, and has not liked to say so; and inasmuch as it is now in the Englishman's hands it is evident that he must have found it."
"The finding of the seal would be a very innocent matter; why, then, does he refuse to state the circumstances?"
Radzivil did not reply, as he might very well have replied, that the mildest-natured individual would have taken umbrage at the duke's insolent manner. He merely remarked,—
"What would your grace infer?"
"That the seal was given to yon fellow by Natalie herself."
"Your grace must be mistaken. This is Captain Woodville's first visit to Czernova. When and where could the princess have seen him?"
"Where? Why not in Dalmatia? Ah! light at last," muttered Bora, grinding his teeth and gripping his sabre-hilt with a murderous look towards the distant Paul.
"Your grace, explain."
"Why did Natalie extend her stay in Dalmatia from three to six months? There is the cause," he added, indicating Paul.
"A secret amour with him at a time when she was affianced to you! You wrong the princess," said Radzivil coldly.
"Wait!" exclaimed the duke, excitement gleaming from his eyes. "Why did she return so melancholy in mood that I almost doubted whether she were the lively Natalie of former days? There is the cause!" he added, again indicating Paul.
"Your grace, this is midsummer madness."
"Before that ill-starred tour she was ever ready to marry me; now, she continually defers our nuptials. Why? There is the cause!" with the same gesture as before. "She clothes hercorps du gardein a new uniform. Why? To do honor to her hero—her lover."
"Her lover?" dissented Radzivil. "And yet she has kept him at a distance for two years?"
"She knows that my sword is sharp, and that I brook no rivals. Who aspires to the princess answers to me. Ha! her desire for an Anti-duelling Act is now explained. The measure is to enable her lover to walk securely in Czernova. She would protect him from my sword. She thinks he may safely venture here now. She has doubtless been corresponding with him since her return from Dalmatia, their common friend, Trevisa, acting as intermediary, being well qualified for such office. To an affianced princess engaged in a clandestineaffaire du cœur, an adept at cipher-writing is a very useful auxiliary."
He again glared in Paul's direction with such ferocity of countenance that the premier, thinking that he was about to jump up for the purpose of making an onslaught upon Paul, tried to divert the duke's thoughts by turning to another topic, and accordingly snatched at the word "cipher."
"Trevisa, as you say, is an adept at cipher-writing, but at present his knowledge is somewhat at fault."
"To what do you allude?"
"To a cryptographic problem recently set him by Zabern. Four weeks ago a tavern-brawl between some Poles and Muscovites rose so high as to call for the intervention of the night watch, who marched the offenders to the guard-house. The customary search taking place, there was found upon one of the men a Russian passport made out to one Ivan Russakoff, which name the man declared to be his."
Radzivil had succeeded admirably in diverting the duke's attention. Anger faded from his face. Paul and the duel seemed to be forgotten in a new interest.
"This Russakoff wore a caftan, in the lining of which was concealed a large sheet of paper folded twice, and covered on both sides, not with words but with rows of numerals.
"In the morning the offenders were released with the exception of Russakoff, who was asked to explain the meaning of the paper. But this he refused to do. He averred that he was an agent travelling for a cloth merchant of Warsaw named Pascovitch; and, as a matter of fact, he carried a portfolio containing specimens of cloth. Inquiries show that there is a cloth merchant of that name at Warsaw, that Russakoff is his agent, and that the tailoring establishments of Slavowitz have considerable dealings with this Pascovitch."
"They let the fellow go after that, I presume?"
"Not so. The matter came to Zabern's ears, and he had the man brought before him.
"'What do these numerals mean?' Zabern asked.
"'They are the secrets of my business,' answered Russakoff.
"'Without doubt,' said the marshal. 'Your business is that of a spy. Your cloth-selling is a mere cloak to conceal your real calling.' Zabern kept him under examination for a long time. Russakoff refused to give the meaning of the mysterious paper; he failed to account for certain portions of his time spent at Slavowitz; and the marshal, convinced that the fellow is a spy in the service of Russia, has removed him for greater security to the Citadel where he now is. The paper has been entrusted to Trevisa for decipherment, and there the matter rests for the present."
"And you say the cipher puzzles Trevisa?"
"He can make no headway with it at all."
The duke seemed rather pleased than otherwise at Trevisa's failure.
"Zabern sees a spy in every man who comes from Russia," he sneered.
"Well, we shall soon know the truth. Zabern talks of employing the rack and the thumbscrew to-day."
"That's illegal," said the duke with a frown.
"So's duelling," retorted the premier.
Bora seemed on the point of making an angry reply, but checked himself and said,—
"And this supposed spy was arrested a month ago, you say? If Zabern deems this a matter of such importance, why was not I, a minister, informed of it?"
"The affair falls within Zabern's department, as he is the Minister for Justice. I myself did not hear of it till yesterday, and then it was by accident. And," added the premier, weakly smiling at the acknowledgment that he was not master in his own cabinet, "you know Zabern's way of acting without the knowledge of his colleagues, and the princess's reply to our plaint 'Zabern is privileged.'"
None knew this better than the duke himself, and there passed over his face a dark look, which implied that when he should come to occupy a moiety of the throne there would be a considerable curtailment of Zabern's privileges.
Tossing off the remainder of his wine at one gulp, the duke rose to go, accompanied by Radzivil.
After their departure Paul observed a little book lying on the floor of the balcony near the table where the two men had been sitting, and concluded that it had been unknowingly dropped by one of them. While he was wondering whether to let it lie, or to send it after them by a waiter, Noel Trevisa made his appearance, his long absence suggesting that he had had a very interesting time with his fair lady friend.
He noticed the book and, moved by curiosity, picked it up and found it to be a pocket-edition of the poet Æschylus containing the Greek text of the seven plays without translation, note or comment.
While casually turning over the leaves Trevisa suddenly stopped and knitted his brows in perplexity.
"Now who has put himself to all this trouble, and what is the object of it?" he muttered.
"My book, Sir Secretary."
Looking up Trevisa caught the keen black eyes of the duke fixed suspiciously upon him.
"I still keep up my knowledge of the classics, you perceive," remarked Bora, as the book was returned to him.
"You study them very attentively, too, I observe," said the secretary; "it isn't every student that takes to counting the exact number of words in a Greek play."
Bora stared hard at Trevisa as if detecting a hidden meaning in his reply, and then turned away, obviously ill at ease.
Trevisa rejoined Paul, and catching sight of the red line on his friend's cheek he instantly inquired the cause.
"The signature of John the Strong," replied Paul, grimly, proceeding to explain.
In describing the recent fracas Paul, not wishing to refer to Castel Nuovo, suppressed the incident of the seal, making it appear that his non-salute of the duke was the cause of the quarrel.
Trevisa listened with a look of the utmost consternation.
"The damned savage!" he muttered. "Paul, you are rushing to certain death. The duke is mighty with the sabre. There is not his equal in all Czernova."
"Small praise, seeing that Czernova is but small."
"He has already fought thirty duels, seven of which ended fatally for his opponent."
"He won't fight more than his thirty-first. And, Noel, you must be my second."
"Dare I? The princess is sternly opposed to duelling. Under the late Prince Thaddeus it was frightfully prevalent; Poles and Muscovites were for ever challenging and fighting each other. After her accession Zabern carried a bill making the duels a penal offence."
"And yet the duke, though aware of this, gives a challenge! Humph! law-maker, law-breaker! And what are the penalties for infringing the law?"
"Imprisonment for principals and seconds alike. If one should fall the survivor is to be put on his trial for murder. You are between the devil and the deep sea, Paul. If the duke should win, you die; if you should win, you die all the same at the hands of the Czernovese law, unless you take to immediate flight."
What a picture was suggested by these last words! The duke lying dead, Barbara in mourning, and himself red-handed, flying from justice! And yet there seemed no way out of the affair consistent with a soldier's honor.
"Listen, Paul, I have the ear of the princess. A word from me as to what is about to happen, and—"
"Would you have the duke point at me as the craven who shirked a fight by creeping behind the skirts of the princess, and begging for protection? Anything but that! But Noel, you must not lose the favor of the princess on my account. Let me find some other second."