“The Czarina,” said Wilfrid, though it grated upon him to use the title, “has lived at Runö as purely as a vestal maiden. My word of honour upon it.” In view of Marie’s attitude at that moment the Czar might be pardoned for declining to accept Wilfrid’s statement. “Your word! Yours!” he retorted with ineffable disdain. “Mine,” returned Wilfrid. “And never yet did Courtenay speak falsely, or—sign a placard that his father had died of apoplexy!” “By heaven, you die for that saying!” cried Alexander, clapping his hand upon his sword-hilt. “Faith! ’tis hard if one must die for speaking the truth!” “Get you from the side of that lady,” said the Czar, his eyes blazing with wrath. “Do not leave me, Wilfrid!” murmured Marie. “The Czar bids, but the Czarina _for_bids!” returned Wilfrid. “Honour enjoins me to obey the lady.” “By what right do you constitute yourself her champion?” “By the right of every man to protect a woman, even the wife of another, from injustice.” “Injustice?” “You have threatened an innocent lady with life-long imprisonment in a convent. From such fate it shall be my duty to defend her.” Emboldened by these words, and moved by a sudden impulse, Marie kissed Wilfrid, placed her arms about his neck, and, facing the Czar, said, with a proud light shining from her eyes:— “I belong to Wilfrid, not to you.” She was never dearer to Wilfrid than at that moment as she stood with her arms about him—to the Czar, proud and defiant, to him, all tenderness and trust. However questionable the nature of his triumph, Wilfrid would have been more than human had he not felt a thrill of pleasure. His dashing audacity could rise no higher: henceforth it must descend; he could never hope to surpass the feat of hearing an empress declare her love for him in the very presence of her husband. Alexander drew his sword with intent to wreak vengeance upon the man who had stolen his wife’s heart. Pauline, trembling all over, threw herself in his way. “No, no!—for God’s sake—your Majesty—you are risking your life! Consider your rank—_Sasha_!” [Illustration: WILFRID DREW HIS OWN BLADE AND ASSUMED AN ATTITUDE OF DEFENCE. “_By Neva’s Waters._” _Page 299._] Putting aside her detaining grasp Alexander, his blade gleaming in his hand, advanced towards the alcove amid the screams of the two women. With a movement, as swift as it was gentle, Wilfrid detached himself from Marie’s arms, placed her behind him, drew his own blade and assumed an attitude of defence. “Leave this apartment to me and to the Empress!” cried Alexander, pointing with his sword the way Wilfrid should go. “If the Empress bids me,” replied Wilfrid. But no such bidding came from the white lips of the Empress, who had sunk half-fainting upon the seat within the alcove.