It was a critical time. The Czernovese army lay encamped within sight of a force whose numerical superiority was as ten to one. On each side of the frontier Polish and Russian sentinels paced not one hundred yards apart; a chance shot from either side might easily bring on hostilities. The princess's ministry lived in hourly dread of invasion, and though striving to put a bold front upon the matter, were secretly convinced that the sands of Czernovese liberty were fast running out. In the midst of a melancholy revery, Barbara learned that the Duke of Bora was in the palace, desirous of an interview with her. She was not unprepared for his coming, and stern was her face as she descended to the White Saloon where the duke was in waiting. At the foot of the staircase she was met by the captain of the palace-guard, who requested the watchword for the night; and taking the proffered tablet, the princess returned it inscribed with the words, "Fatherland and Liberty." Lifting her eyes she perceived Zabern by her side. "The duke has come," she whispered. "All is ready," replied the marshal. As Barbara entered the White Saloon, the duke bowed with a scarcely disguised smile of triumph. The recent Russian movement, as the princess had secret reason to know, was directed in his interests; with pitying grace he came as a sort of conqueror to make his terms with her. Great at swordsmanship, Bora was not very shrewd in other matters, and none but a fool would have ventured to play the game that he was playing. "I have come, fair cousin," he began, undeterred by her cold manner, "to remind you of your promise so frequently made--your promise to marry me." Barbara made no reply, but regarded him with a look of sovereign disdain on her beautiful face. "It is true," continued Bora, airily, "that you gave what you were pleased to call your final decision some weeks ago; still, the logic of events often compels one to revoke a decision." "And why do you deem the present a favorable time for renewing your suit? What is this logic of events?" Bora smiled mysteriously. "I will say no more than this," he remarked, "that you will certainly live to regret the rejection of my suit." "You evade my question. Let me then express what is in your mind. My lord, by favor of the Czar, you expect to reign over Czernova; you seek to usurp my throne. But knowing that so long as I live, your throne would always be insecure, you would make me your wife, not from love, not from generosity or pity, but merely to give validity to your title. Have I not read your cowardly motive aright?" She had--accurately.