"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 a.s.sumed 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 known to 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 circ.u.mstances 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 att.i.tude 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 princess was 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 pa.s.sed 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 Taj.a.pore?"

"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 have modelled 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?"