As the duke drew near, a spirit of latent defiance took possession of Paul. This was the man destined to rob him of Barbara--Barbara who belonged of prior right to himself. It was clearly state-policy that dictated her attitude towards the duke. Paul found it impossible to believe that the delicately-minded and intellectual Barbara could feel any genuine love for this great, clumsy barbarian. "Let him keep to Natalie, and leave me Barbara. What sort of a lover must he be? Where were his eyes two years ago, that he did not perceive that the returning princess was not his first love? Barbara must have played her part well so to impose upon him. But was he deceived? Does he know the truth, and knowing, make use of it to intimidate Barbara into marrying him?" A thought which did not tend to increase Paul's amiability. As the duke passed he eyed Paul askance, and then wheeling round with a suddenness that formed a marked contrast with his previous slowness, he exclaimed in a voice of thunder,-- "You have neither stood nor saluted, sir!" Paul regarded the fierce Bora with a look of calm surprise. What right had this Czernovese grandee to demand a salute from him--an English officer? "You have neither stood nor saluted, sir!" "Why should I?" The duke's black eyes flashed savagely; his face grew as dark as night. "Are you mad or drunk? Report yourself a prisoner at the Citadel." "Again I ask, why should I?" Bora gripped his sword-handle with an air compounded of amazement and fury. A whispered word from Radzivil seemed to exercise a moderating effect upon him. "Permit me to give my name," said the minister, stepping forward with a courteous bearing. "I am Count Radzivil, premier of Czernova. May I ask a like favor?" "I am an Englishman, Captain Woodville of the 24th Kentish. May I ask who is this--ah!--gentleman?" An Englishman! Bora immediately recognized his error. Misled by Paul's uniform he had taken him for one of his own officers. The duke could ill bear ridicule, and if this story got abroad he would be the laughingstock of Czernova. "Permit me to reveal my dignity," he began stiffly. "Your--? But proceed, sir." "I am the Duke of Bora, commander-in-chief of the Czernovese army. Your English uniform being so similar to the Czernovese--" "Pardon me. You mean that the Czernovese is so similar to the English." "That I not unreasonably took you for a Czernovese officer." And with a scowl the duke drew aside, deeming that he made a sufficient apology, and Paul, had he chosen, might have boasted that he was the only man who had ever drawn an apology from the duke. "Woodville? Woodville?" murmured the premier with a musing air. "Surely not the Captain Woodville who conducted the defence of the Afghan fortress of Tajapore?" "The same," replied Paul modestly. The duke glanced askance at Paul with a feeling of jealousy, the mean jealousy of the man who had done Nothing, against the man who had done Something.