Many of the ladies present, unable to endure the sight, averted their eyes, and then, impelled by a dreadful curiosity, turned to gaze again. Some looked on with handkerchiefs pressed to their mouths to check the screams which might have disconcerted the combatants. Intense emotion caused a few to swoon away. The tide seemed to be turning in favor of Paul. He began to press the duke, whose strength was beginning to fail. Mighty in a first onset, he lacked the steady endurance of his adversary. Suddenly, while bending sideways to avoid a thrust which he had failed to parry, Bora lost his balance and fell. In falling, his sword flew from his hand. And there he was, resting upon one knee, defenceless, at the mercy of his opponent. The spirit of chivalry restrained Paul from giving the fatal stroke. "I cannot slay an unarmed man," he said. "What folly is this?" cried Zabern, starting up in wrath. "Did he spare Trevisa? Would he spare you if you were now in his place? This is no time for generosity or mercy. The princess's throne is at stake. Strike and spare not." Bora neither moved nor spoke, awaiting his end in trembling terror. Paul's refusal to strike evoked the long-suppressed feelings of the Poles. "Kill! kill!" The lofty arches rang with excited cries. Even tender ladies, carried away by the heat of the moment, added their voices to those of the men. Paul, looking around upon the assembly, saw nothing but a forest of waving hands, and a multitude of fierce-gleaming eyes urging him to the bloody work. "No quarter can be granted," said the herald. "You have each sworn an oath to slay, or be slain." But inasmuch as Paul was not to be moved from his purpose, there was no other course left than to permit the duke to resume the combat. "You have given him time to recover himself," grumbled Zabern, as he sat down again. "It is a violation of the rules." During his discomfiture, Bora had glanced more than once at the Czar, as if supplicating his intervention. But the emperor sat impassive as a statue, ignoring the silent appeal. Relying on the duke's boastful assurances of victory, Nicholas had assented to the policy of the duel as a convenient and constitutional way of deposing the princess. It now seemed that this plan would fail. Then let the duke pay the penalty merited by his presumption. Woe to the man who deceives the Czar! Bora's heart sank within him at sight of the emperor's cold face. The contest now entered upon its last, its fatal phase. Equality had disappeared between the two champions; the duel was virtually over; the result known to all present; it was merely a question of time. And the person most conscious of this was the duke himself. His confident swagger had vanished. He was fighting now, not for glory or a throne, but for dear life itself.