"Marshal, is it true that the princess has not yet been informed of the result of the duel?" It was Paul who spoke, and he spoke with some warmth. "Such have been my orders." "Why do you prolong her suspense?" "Who more fitting than the victor himself to convey the glad tidings? Go. Carry these papers with you. Tell the princess that they were found in the cardinal's palace!" Taking the documents from the hand of Zabern, Paul proceeded to the sacristy, where he had left Barbara. She was alone on her knees in prayer. She had heard the rapturous applause ringing through the cathedral aisles; she had heard the still louder shout from the square, and had trembled, knowing that all was over. But when moment after moment went by and no one came with tidings, a black pall of horror fell over her. It must be that the duke's sword had prevailed, and that her friends from pity hesitated to come forward with the truth. The door opened, yet she durst not turn her head. Through the corridor came the solemn roll of the organ, and with it the voices of the white-robed choir: "_Deposuit potentes et exaltavit humiles_." Why had Faustus ordered the "Magnificat" to be sung? Could it be that--? "Barbara!" A delicious feeling of relief thrilled her whole frame as that word fell on her ear. She looked up from her knees. Yes, it was the living Paul, and not his spirit; Paul smiling tenderly, and apparently unhurt. She tried to speak, but emotion checked her utterance. Paul raised her drooping figure from the ground and girdled her in a grasp of iron. "My sweet floweret. You must not faint. All is well. Your throne is safe." "Your life is safe," she faintly articulated, "and that is all I care for." Then followed a long interval of silence. Their joy was too deep for words. At last Barbara spoke. "And is Bora really dead?" "May all enemies of the princess be as the duke is." "And you? Are you not wounded--hurt?" she asked, holding him at arm's length. "There is not a scratch upon me." "And the Czar--?" "Is taking a lesson in the school of humiliation." And here Paul proceeded to relate what he had been doing during his absence. He had gone away boldly resolved on making an attempt to persuade the English Foreign Secretary to interest himself on behalf of Czernovese liberty. With this view, then, Paul, on the very first night of his arrival in London, called at the residence of Viscount Palmerston, and sent in his card. That statesman had no sooner read the notable name "Paul Woodville," than he gave orders that the visitor should be instantly admitted to his presence. He received Paul with great affability, expressing his regret that a young soldier, certain of promotion, should have so strangely quitted the service of a great empire for that of one of the smallest states in Europe. "You have sadly disappointed the British public," he remarked with a smile. "We were preparing great honors for you in England."