"The stars shall fall from heaven ere Katina Ludovska craves pardon of Nicholas Paulovitch," scornfully replied the Polish maiden, ever mindful of the fact that the warrant condemning her to receive the knout was signed with this same name, Nicholas Paulovitch. "Your Highness," she continued, still on her knees, and addressing Barbara, "if through zeal I have wrought amiss in slaying one who traduced the fair name of my princess, of you alone I crave pardon." "If the name of him whom you have slain be Feodor Orloff," said Barbara, "then have you done a good deed, and you need ask pardon of none." A Russian governor slain in the very presence of the Czar, and the princess justifying the deed! Barbara's ministers sat completely dumfounded by her boldness. There were two sovereigns in the choir, each contending for the mastery; which would prevail? Turning to the emperor with an air of dignity and self-possession, Barbara said,-- "Let the Czar explain by what right he has set free a traitor imprisoned by my authority." Such language as this was new to the autocrat, who is credited with the saying, "Let there be no will in Russia but that of the Czar." He glanced with surprise, not unmixed with admiration, at the young girl who faced him so spiritedly. "What gives you such boldness in the presence of the Czar?" "The Charter of your ancestress Catherine." "Catherine, 'tis true, granted to the palatines of Czernova the title of princes, but conferred no independence upon them. The story of the Charter is a myth." "Your Majesty may see upon the altar here the identical document itself, signed by the hand of the empress." "That," replied Nicholas, scarcely deigning to turn his eyes in the direction indicated, "that document is a forgery, as Marshal Zabern can prove." "I plainly see that a little bird has been whispering to him," murmured Zabern to himself. A scornful repudiation trembled upon Barbara's lips, but it died away when she beheld Zabern's grave look. "Marshal, is not that the original Charter of Catherine?" There was something so wistful and pathetic in her expression--an expression which plainly said, "Let me know the worst,"--that Zabern felt he could no longer deceive her. "It is a faithful transcript, so please your Highness." Barbara understood the significant reply. Zabern, in describing to her the plot formed by Bora and Orloff for the destruction of the Charter, had represented the scheme as resulting in failure. She now perceived that from pity the marshal had kept the terrible truth from her, endeavoring to repair Czernova's loss by means of a forged document. Wrong of him, doubtless, but the fault lay more with those whose wickedness had compelled him to resort to such a policy. Outwardly Barbara was as firm and as brave as ever, but inwardly she felt that her throne was going, nay, had gone from her. And bitter indeed was it to see the crafty flourishing in their craftiness. She beckoned Zabern to her side.