Chapter II: Czernovese Politics

"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 the _status 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 to the 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. A son 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? But if 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 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 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 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 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 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?"

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 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 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."

"No, Paul, I were no true friend, if I did not stand by you in this affair. Here comes Baron Ostrova, the duke's secretary, and presumably his second, since he has usually acted as such in Bora's _affaires d'honneur_. What instructions, Paul?"

"This evening. At six. Sabres. To the death."

And Paul went on smoking as quietly as if a duel were an everyday event with him.