Sighing, Allard sank passively into contemplation of the spectacle, Vasili by his side. Many times he had visited the cathedral with the Emperor, never again would he see it like this. For all its pomp and solemnity, the ceremony was not long. When at last Adrian turned to face them, fully invested, when church and city rocked with acclamation, Allard felt the first thrill of realization of what this meant. And he knew there was nothing the new sovereign could not do. "What is the matter?" questioned Vasili. "Why are you so sober; why are you so still? Oh, you English, cold as a stone!" But Allard did not hear, he was watching the next act in the splendid drama, when, as former Regent and first kinsman of the Emperor, Stanief moved forward to offer his homage. "Not here," Allard implored mutely, his eyes on the golden central figure, his hands clenched with nervous dread for the one he loved. "Surely, surely not even Adrian will hurt him here, before these!" Perhaps the thought of just how humiliating this could be made was also present in Stanief's mind, perhaps some deeper emotion, for there was no trace of color in his firm dark face. Intent, breathless, the church looked on at the meeting, an audience of courtiers and diplomats whom no slightest detail escaped. In her place Iría laid one hand above her heart where, under velvet and satin, the tiny Spanish cross still rested. It was over very briefly. As Stanief would have sunk to his knee, Adrian made a quick step forward and prevented the movement. "Not to me, my cousin," he said quietly. "Not now, at least." And he embraced the other with a touch that lifted the formality to a caress. The great mass of people remained absolutely still. One would have said there was not a breath drawn or a garment rustled. Stanief himself faltered, shaken out of his stoicism and flushing heavily; it was a perceptible moment before he recovered and carried on his rôle. "_Nom de Dieu!_" gasped Vasili faintly, clutching his companion's sleeve. "You saw, Allard, you saw?" Allard saw. He saw Stanief's oath of allegiance given and received, he saw the second embrace which welcomed it; he heard the Emperor's graceful speech of thanks for the long service completed now. But no one except Stanief himself caught the murmured answer to the quaint, earnest phrases of feudal loyalty: "For the second time, Feodor." And to the listener the cathedral faded momentarily at the reminder; the rose-hued salon of the _Nadeja_ closed around.