"Who could have thought," said Paul, after complimenting Barbara upon the admirable manner in which she had out-manoeuvred the Russian envoy, "who could have thought when we first met in that Dalmatian forest that a great empire would one day demand my extradition, and that you would bravely refuse to grant it!" "And I will not surrender you, Paul. No, not if it should cost me my throne." How sweet it was to hear such words from this fair princess! She who was a match for the Czar's envoy to set such store by him! This maiden pressing tenderly to his side scarcely seemed to be the same person who that morning had filled a throne with such dignity. Nor was she. Love had entirely transfigured her. "Paul," she said quietly, "I have told the duke that I cannot marry him." "How did he take the tidings?" "He said little, but his face expressed much--" "Much--?" "Hatred, then, if you will have the word. Excluded from the cabinet, and from the command of the army, he is not likely to sit down quietly under such dishonoring. And," she added with a sigh, "he is a political force to be reckoned with." "Sweet princess, give me leave to resume the duel with him, and you shall soon be rid of one whom you seem to fear." "No, Paul, no," she said, laying her hand affectionately upon his; "promise me that you will not fight with him again." "Does the princess command?" "No; your Barbara entreats," she said with a soft pressure of her arm. Who could resist such an appeal as this? "I do not doubt your ability to overcome the duke, for Zabern has told me of your feat in the _salle d'armes_; but you forget that duelling is illegal in Czernova. Would you have me send you to the Citadel? Moreover, if you should slay the duke it would become the aim of every Muscovite fanatic to slay you. As it is, I fear you will carry your life in your hands, when men come to learn that you are the cause of the duke's rejection. Czernova is but semi-civilized, and assassination is the favorite political weapon here. I would, Paul, that you would do even as Zabern." "And what is Zabern's habit?" "He wears chain-mail beneath his clothing." "An uncomfortable arrangement, I should say. For my own part I will rely on my right arm and on my good sword. Fear not for me. But, dearest Barbara, will you not unmask, and let me see your face, if only for a moment?" She shook her head tantalizingly. "I would if I dared, but who knows what eyes may be watching me at this moment? There are Russian spies at this masquerade, so Zabern assures me. I must not be recognized in this guise. Ah! who comes here?" Paul felt her arm trembling upon his, as there moved slowly along the moonlit terrace a tall and stately figure robed in a monastic habit. His cassock was identical in its shade of gray with the nun's gown worn by Barbara, and like hers, it was marked on each shoulder with a red cross.