"It is here, then, that we are to look for the Czar's _coup_?" muttered Zabern, as the cavalcade drew in sight of the stately Gothic cathedral of Saint Stanislas, from every tower of which silver-tongued bells were pealing jubilant carillons. Those in the procession whose duty or privilege it was to enter the cathedral, made their ingress by various doors to their appointed places; the less fortunate remained drawn up in order around the edifice. As Zabern stood upon the broad flight of steps, carpeted with crimson velvet, and surveyed the vast crowds around, his attention was suddenly arrested by the sight of a horseman at the far end of a boulevard which opened upon the cathedral square. As this avenue was kept clear by the military for the return journey of the princess, there was nothing to impede the rider's progress, and on he came with flying rein and bloody spur. "A courier! a courier!" cried the people, instinctively divining that he was the bearer of weighty tidings. "What news? What news?" To their cries, however, the rider remained mute. "By heaven, it's Nikita!" muttered the marshal. As the quivering steed drew up at the foot of the cathedral-stairs, Zabern sprang to meet his orderly. "Now, marshal," said the latter, "play the Roman, and fall on your sword's point, for the end has come." "A good many men shall fall by this blade ere it reaches my heart," growled Zabern. "What new trouble do you bring?" "The chanting of the monks hath ceased; or to be plainer, the Russian standard is floating over the Convent of the Transfiguration." "Speak you from hearsay merely?" "I speak of what I have seen." "The cardinal laughs at us from hell; this is the first result of his letter. The Russian invasion has begun, then? Pretty generalship on the part of Dorislas to let the enemy steal thus upon his rear! And where are the monks, that they have not fired the powder-magazine, and sent themselves and their foes flying into the air? They have sworn an oath to do it rather than let the convent fall into the hands of the enemy. There would not now have been one stone upon another if old Faustus had been there." "It was when on my way back from the camp of Dorislas that I caught sight of the Muscovite standard on the tower of the convent. I immediately rode near and perceived the bayonets of the Paulovski Guards moving to and fro along the battlements. And who should be in command there but Baron Ostrova, the duke's former secretary--he whom the princess banished from Czernova. I at once galloped back to our camp with the news. Dorislas instantly set off with a thousand men; he has invested the convent; his artillery are ready planted for shelling the place, and he now awaits orders from you." "'Orders'?" repeated Zabern with contempt. "My orders should be, 'Consider yourself cashiered for incompetence.' How many Russians do you suppose there are in the convent?"