But scarcely had the heavy sabres clashed together, sparkling in the rays of the setting sun, when there came the command,--
"Let fall your swords in the name of the law."
The words were spoken in a woman's voice,--a voice that sent a thrill to Paul's heart.
Parrying a thrust from the duke, Paul took a swift backward step, and while maintaining his defensive attitude, contrived to glance sideways.
And there, beautiful and pale, and so close to him that he could see into her eyes, was Barbara, breathless as if from hurrying. From what quarter she had so suddenly sprung none present could tell. Complete absorption in the duel had prevented them from hearing her light footfall upon the turf of the woodland.
Paul forgot his guard. He forgot everything. From sheer surprise his sword dropped to the ground.
He looked at her in silence, striving to learn what were her feelings towards him. She gave no token of recognition. Love on her part, if it existed, was veiled at present in sorrowful reproach. In the light of that look how ignoble seemed his desire for vengeance. His glance fell even as his sword had fallen. He had acted, and knowingly acted, in a way calculated to forfeit her esteem.
A death-like stillness fell upon the circle as they perceived that the fair princess of Czernova, sternly hostile to duelling, was present, a spectator of their misdeed. True, she was but one maiden, but that maiden symbolized in her own person all the power of a state.
"Who first proposed this duel? Who issued the challenge?"
And stalking up to the princess, the Duke of Bora bent his head, and said in a fierce, jealous whisper,--
"Cousin Natalie, how comes yon fellow to be in possession of the seal I gave you?"
The princess stepped backward, and drawing her robe around her with a stately grace, she exclaimed,--
"It ill becomes one of my ministers to be found setting himself above the law. Marshal, conduct your prisoner to the Citadel."
Paul, following the wave of her arm, perceived that she had not come without an escort.
On the Czernovese side of the frontier-stone stood Marshal Zabern with folded arms, outwardly as inscrutable as the sphinx, inwardly delighted at the course taken by events.
Some distance in his rear, drawn up across the woodland path, the narrowness of which did not admit of more than two abreast, was a posse of mounted lancers belonging to the Blue Legion. Fronting these troopers was the vehicle evidently used by the princess in her journey to this spot,--a light, elegant droshky, expressly adapted for swift travelling.