"A duel within a cathedral!" exclaimed Radzivil in amazement. "Why not?" asked Zabern coolly. "This is a consecrated place. The wilful shedding of blood here is forbidden by the Church." "Well, let's take the opinion of the Church as expressed in the person of Faustus." Now, sad to relate, that mitred abbot dearly loved to witness a good fight, for he had been a soldier ere adopting the monastic profession, and the old Adam was still strong within him. "This cathedral is holy ground," he began. "Presumably so," replied Zabern. "And to maintain the princess's throne and the Latin faith is a holy deed." "Without doubt." "Then let the holy deed take place on holy ground." "My view of the matter." "But if the shedding of blood should profane a church--" "As the timid allege." "Then is the place already profaned by the blood of Orloff." "True." "Therefore this being now common ground the duel can take place without occasion of profanation." "Faustus, thou reasonest well. Gentlemen, we have heard the voice of the Church. _Fiat voluntas ecclesiæ._ Let the combat take place here, and now." "Good!" commented Paul, who had listened in silence to this dialogue. "It cannot come too soon." A remark echoed by the ferocious Bora, confident in his ability to overcome the other. Paul now found his hands grasped by those of admiring ministers, all of whom were anxious that he should forget how near they had come to banishing him by public edict. In the midst of their congratulations Paul was approached by a lady-in-waiting, who brought word that the princess desired to speak with him ere the duel should begin. "Go to your dalliance," sneered Bora, who had overheard the message. "It will be your last." "If your grace will take counsel of an enemy," replied Paul, "you will seek the ministration of a priest, for you never needed it more." There was something in Paul's quiet and confident manner, something far removed from boasting, that sent a momentary uneasiness to the hearts of both Bora and of his imperial patron, the Czar. Paul followed his conductress to the sacristy, where he found Barbara attended by her ladies, who had divested her of her heavy coronation robes. The pure white of her silk dress was not whiter than her face at that moment. At a sign from the princess the attendants withdrew, leaving her alone with Paul. "What a pity," murmured one, "if so handsome a hero should die!" Barbara rose to her feet, but so great was her emotion that she would have fallen, had not Paul caught her in his arms, where she reclined, clinging convulsively to him. "Oh! Paul, Paul," she murmured, and for a long time she could do no more than repeat his name.