"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 her _corps du garde_ in 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 clandestine _affaire du coeur_, 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 pa.s.sport 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 pa.s.sed 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 aeschylus 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 cla.s.sics, 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 d.a.m.ned 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 princ.i.p.als 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."