THE CRIME THAT FAILED
The coronation eve was drawing to a close as Pasqual Ravenna, Cardinal
Archbishop of Czernova, sat in the library of his archiepiscopal
palace in company with a young priest, Melchior by name.
One of the points which had wounded the pride of Ravenna in time past
had been the refusal of Abbot Faustus, of the Convent of the
Transfiguration, to submit his monastery to a visit of inspection from
the cardinal. Though ecclesiastically the superior, Ravenna was unable
to enforce compliance from the sturdy abbot, who claimed to be
independent in virtue of an ancient bull granted by Pius the Second.
Even a mild admonition from the regnant Pope had failed to produce any
effect.
The cardinal had begun to suspect that Faustus's defiance was prompted
by other motives than the desire to maintain his independence; there
was some secret connected with this monastery, a secret in which the
princess herself was involved; and accordingly he had deputed the
priest Melchior, whose crafty character well qualified him for the
work, to discover, if possible, the mystery that lay hidden behind the
walls of the Convent of the Transfiguration.
And now, in the first hour of the cardinal's return from Rome,
Melchior had come to report the results of his investigations, results
which were highly satisfactory to Ravenna.
"So," he murmured, when the other had unfolded his discoveries, "a
conspiracy for the emancipation of Poland, a conspiracy to which
Ravenna must not be admitted, such being the express command of the
princess. 'The cardinal is not to be trusted.' Ha! The place then is
no true monastery but an arsenal, a treasury, and a repository for
treasonable documents. This explains the conduct of Faustus in
excluding me from his convent. Favored by the princess, he has grown
insolent, and would usurp my place at the coronation. To-morrow he
will rue his defiance when he sees his monastery in the hands of
Russian soldiery. The Czar's army lies conveniently near for the
seizure. How did you learn all these details, Melchior?"
"From a kinsman of mine, a monk in this same convent. In a
conversation with him I stated my belief that his monastery was
utilized as a secret rendezvous for Polish patriots. After some
hesitation he admitted as much; and then, won over by my professions
of patriotism, he revealed to me the length and breadth of the
conspiracy."
"Melchior, you have done well, and shall not go unrewarded."
The priest expressed his gratitude by an ugly smile, and then with a
look of cunning he continued,--
"Your Eminence, I have discovered something more. We Czernovese have
lost our title to autonomy. The Charter has been destroyed, and the
princess's ministers are doing their best to keep the matter a
secret."
"Ha! how do you know this?" said Ravenna, surprised beyond measure at
the statement.
"The Charter was burnt by two sentinels whose duty it was to guard the
Eagle Tower. They were traitors in the pay of Russia. By the waving of
a blue lamp they signalled the successful accomplishment of the work
to a confederate concealed in the palace grounds, who immediately
conveyed the news to Orloff, the governor of Warsaw. This confederate
returned to Slavowitz a few weeks ago. He is a Catholic, it seems,
regular at confessional. Being troubled with the thing called
conscience, and desiring to be absolved from his guilt, he revealed
the matter to his father confessor Virgilius, who, in turn--"
"Revealed it to you," interrupted the Cardinal, his surprise yielding
to delight, for the news furnished him with another weapon to be used
against the princess. "What has become of the two who destroyed the
Charter?"
"They have never been seen since the night of the deed. Doubtless they
are now in Russia enjoying a pension from the Czar's ministers. Oh!
your eminence, there can be no doubt as to the truth of the story.
Orloff himself came as envoy to Slavowitz; he boldly declared in the
presence of the princess and her ministers that the Czernovese Charter
was a myth, and non-existent; and--here is the significant point--her
Highness and Zabern did not refute him by producing the Charter, but
took refuge in evasions."
"But, Melchior," observed the cardinal with perplexed air, "you must
be in error. This evening the iron coffer containing the Charter was
conveyed to the Cathedral under a strong guard of soldiers. It plays a
part in the coronation-ritual."
Melchior smiled caustically.
"Your eminence, three little circumstances that have happened of late
may serve to throw a little light upon what is contained in that
coffer. Firstly, within a few days after the destruction of the
Charter, Zabern's mistress, Katina Ludovska, made purchase of some
parchment at a stationer's in the Rue de Sobieski, and was very
critical as to its color, texture, and the like. Secondly, this same
Katina was for several days in an apartment of the Vistula Palace
occupied in writing. Thirdly, as you are aware, our _Museum
Czernovium_ contains a collection of historical documents, among them
autograph letters of several Czars, and--what is more pertinent to the
occasion--an imperial ukase bearing the signature, '_Buit po semu,
Ickathrina._--Be it so, Catherine.' Your Eminence will doubtless
remember that our Charter ended with these same words, '_Buit po semu,
Ickathrina_.' Now it is a curious circumstance that this imperial
ukase should have vanished some weeks ago from its glass case in the
Museum; the curator is unable to account for its disappearance, but
probably Zabern can."
"You mean--?"
"That any one wishing to imitate the signature of Catherine would find
the task facilitated by having this ukase before him. Your Eminence,
doubt it not that the document to be laid upon the altar to-morrow is
a forgery. Count Orloff in the character of ambassador will be present
at the coronation. A word to him--"
"Enough," interrupted Ravenna with an exultant smile. "This shall to
the Czar. Here's matter sufficient to depose the princess. Within
twenty-four hours the iron hand of Russia will be pressing the
principality."
"True. And yet," said Melchior, somewhat puzzled to account for his
master's attitude, "and yet when that happens what place will there be
for a Roman archbishop?"
"None: and therefore after to-morrow I quit this barbarous
principality for Italy, leaving without reluctance, for, you know, I
never was a Pole. The Pope has appointed me to the See of Palestrina.
You shall accompany me, Melchior, and the first rich benefice that
becomes vacant in my diocese shall be yours. Italia, Italia," said the
cardinal with a glow of enthusiasm, "where the skies are sunny, the
wines delicious, and the women--"
"More yielding than the cold dames of Czernova," smiled Melchior, well
acquainted with his master's character.
"The hour is late, and much remains to be done," observed Ravenna.
"Melchior, you will call upon those of the clergy whom I have named,
and request their attendance here at eight in the morning to listen to
a rescript from the Pope."
The priest bowed and quitted the apartment.
Left alone, the cardinal drew writing-materials towards himself, and
proceeded to indite a letter, a letter intended for the perusal of no
less a personage than the Czar Nicholas. The contents of the missive
were brief, but exceedingly weighty.
In leisurely fashion, Ravenna went over what he had written, and
seemingly satisfied with the composition, he proceeded to fold the
paper several times; then selecting--and not without reason as the
sequel proved--an extremely small envelope, he enclosed the letter
within it.
The night was very warm; and the windows were open to catch every
breath of air. These windows overlooked the gardens in the rear of the
palace, for the cardinal's library lay remote from the public street.
The sounds of distant revelry floated faintly on the air. The
Czernovese were not disposed to retire early on such a festal eve as
this. Many, indeed, were spending the night in the streets for the
purpose of securing a place of vantage from which to view the
coronation procession next day.
Ravenna smiled cynically as he listened to the murmur of the far-off
voices.
"The morrow shall see your mirth turned to mourning," he muttered.
The letter accidentally dropped from his hand as he was in the act of
affixing his seal of the paschal lamb. He let it lie, while with
closed eyes he leaned back in his chair, picturing his triumph of the
morrow. In fancy he could see the princess led off, a pale, silent,
drooping captive under an escort of Russian soldiers, and the Duke of
Bora enthroned in the cathedral amid the shouting of the Czar's
legions.
"Barbara Lilieska," he said aloud, and with his eyes still closed,
"you shall regret your insolence in putting an affront upon me in the
sight of Czernova."
"Don't be too sure of that," said an ironical voice.
The one man in Czernova whom the cardinal least desired to see on this
particular night was Zabern; and yet it was Zabern who had spoken!
With a sudden start Ravenna opened his eyes to find the marshal
standing with folded arms upon the other side of the table. Behind him
was his orderly, Nikita. A third man, a trooper named Gabor, was in
the act of locking the door of the apartment. Alive to his peril, the
cardinal struck repeatedly at a bell upon the table.
"Of no use," remarked Zabern, with an ice-cold smile. "There is no one
in the house but your steward, who is keeping watch at the foot of the
staircase. He has lately become a spy in my service. He has just
dismissed your household, bidding them go forth to view the city
decorations. They will not return for an hour at least--ample time for
our work."
"What do you want of me?"
"Your life."
Ravenna could not suppose that Zabern had come for anything else;
nevertheless, the cool, frank avowal sent the blood to his heart with
a rush.
"You would murder me?" he gasped.
"Call it murder if you will. Execution is my term."
"What is my trespass?"
"'Stolen waters are sweet.' Strange text for holy cardinal to address
to youthful princess. You comprehend? Do you ask, then, why you should
die?"
So all was known to these men. What mercy could he expect? He glanced
from one to the other, but saw no pity in their stern, set faces. The
trio had come to do a bloody work, and would do it. He strove to keep
a cool head; he tried to reason with his would-be assassins.
"You will have to answer for what you do."
"To the saints above--yes; and I am ready. At the bar of God I'll rest
my title to heaven on the holy deed I do to-night. To a human
tribunal--no, for none shall know that you have been killed by others.
Behold!"
Zabern, as he spoke, drew forth a small cut-glass phial, half-full of
a liquid resembling distilled water. The silver cap bore the
inscription, "The Manna of Saint Nicholas."
"_Aqua Tophania_," continued the marshal. "Ah! you start? You
recognize the phial? Yes, it has been taken from a secret drawer of
your own cabinet. Why a holy cardinal should have poison in his
possession is best known to himself. I can, however, testify to its
efficacy, for the condemned criminal upon whom I experimented to-day
died within five minutes. Pasqual Ravenna, your servants on their
return will find you leaning over the table dead, clutching this empty
phial in your hand. To-morrow all Slavowitz will be discussing the
suicide of the cardinal archbishop. Your nephew, Redwitz of Zamoska,
may send off his three sealed packets, and very much surprised the
recipients will be to find nothing within them but blank papers, for
the originals have been abstracted, read by the princess, and burnt."
Like one dazed by a heavy blow, Ravenna stared vacantly at the
speaker, and then his eye, mechanically sinking lighted upon something
white near his feet. It was the letter that he had recently written.
The sight of it suddenly quickened his blood and suggested a plan for
outwitting his assassins. He was still seated at the table, and with
his foot he gently pushed the letter forward till it lay concealed
beneath the fringe of the overhanging damask cloth.
Upon the table itself there lay before him a document almost as
dangerous as the letter. This was a roll of vellum with papal seals
attached. It was beyond him to conceal this document from Zabern,
whose face was set upon it with grim satisfaction.
"What have we here?" he cried, stooping over the table, and lifting
the vellum. "The papal bull, as I live," he continued, glancing his
eye rapidly over the document, and reading snatches from it. "'We, Pio
Nono ... do herewith commission our faithful brother in Christ,
Pasqual Ravenna'--Angels of light! such names mingled! Christ and
Ravenna!--'commission him to pronounce sentence of anathema and
excommunication against the so-called Natalie Lilieska,'--so-called,
so-called," muttered Zabern, stopping in his reading with a sudden
fear, and hardly daring to continue the perusal; "what does that
mean?--'in that while claiming to be lawful Princess of Czernova, and
a daughter of the True Church, she is an impostor who ...' Oh, devil
that you are!" cried Zabern, breaking off, and grinding his teeth in
anger, "so you have told that story to the Pope?"
"It is known to all the Vatican," replied Ravenna, hoping that the
knowledge of the fact would restrain Zabern from his dreadful purpose.
"The Pope will understand why I am murdered, and to whom the deed
should be ascribed. You will do well to pause and reflect."
Zabern's face grew terrible in its expression, as he realized the
desperate strait to which Barbara was now reduced. If the Pope were
master of her secret, not only could he anathematize, but he had
likewise the power of deposing her whenever he chose.
"'Pause and reflect'?" said Zabern, repeating Ravenna's words. "Why,
this disposes me more than ever to slay you. What motive have I for
keeping you alive? So, cardinal," he continued, after a brief pause,
"you would have come to the coronation, robed in full canonicals,
with the Latin clergy of Czernova at your back, to interdict Abbot
Faustus from performing the ceremony, to read the Pope's rescript, and
to anathematize the princess with bell, book, and candle. Vain your
hopes! This papal bull shall not be read in the cathedral to-morrow,
for here is the end of it."
With these words Zabern raised the document to the flame of the
candelabrum, and there held it till the vellum had shrivelled to
blackened flakes.
"That the Pope should sign his name to such rhodomontade!" he muttered
contemptuously. "He threatens us; let him beware of his own downfall.
The House of Savoy shall be our avengers. The Sardinian king will
never rest till he himself shall reign at Rome."
A prediction destined to be fulfilled.
Zabern, resolving to show cause for the slaying of Ravenna, seated
himself in a chair, rested his elbow upon the table, his face upon his
hand, and glared across the crimson damask.
"Cardinal, when you told the Pope that story, did you tell him the
whole of it? How the Princess Natalie met her death, for example?"
"The Princess Natalie committed suicide at Castel Nuovo."
"True; and so you told her father, Prince Thaddeus, but you did not
tell him her reason for the act. Let us hear it."
Ravenna was silent.
"The truth is that you had become possessed of unhallowed desires
towards that fair princess during your tour with her around the shores
of the Adriatic. When at Zara you proposed a visit to your place,
Castel Nuovo, and the princess, doubting nothing, willingly
accompanied you. While there you made certain proposals to her, who
was so innocent in mind that she failed to understand you, and
wonderingly repeated your words to the housekeeper Jacintha. Full well
did Jacintha know your object in bringing that young girl there. For,
holy cardinal, Natalie was not the first. You were ever eloquent in
persuading youthful widows and maidens to renounce the world and to
take the veil. It was your practice to escort your victims to some
convent in Dalmatia, and the journey was always broken at Castel
Nuovo. When your _protégées_ left that place they had good reason for
wishing to hide themselves in a convent.
"To such a point of depravity and recklessness had your nature grown
that you could not refrain, even where a princess was concerned. At
Castel Nuovo there was a secret passage leading from your study to the
chamber where Natalie slept. In the silence and darkness of the night
you stole down to accomplish your wicked purpose. When I think of the
shame and horror of that poor girl's awakening, her imploring words
and cries--"
At this point Nikita, thinking of his own youthful daughter, who once
upon a time had been almost persuaded by Ravenna to adopt a conventual
life, could no longer restrain himself.
"Have at you!" he cried fiercely, drawing his sabre.
The stroke aimed by him at the cardinal's head was intercepted by the
sword of the quick-moving Zabern.
"Hold, Nikita. No clumsy work. No betrayal of ourselves. Toffana's
hell-drops will do the trick more safely. Put up your weapon."
When the other had somewhat reluctantly obeyed, Zabern resumed,--
"Next morning the wretched princess, rendered completely insane by the
thought of her dishonor, staggered through the secret passage, and
after invoking the vengeance of heaven upon you, she stabbed herself
and so died.
"By some means you prevailed upon Lambro and Jacintha to maintain
silence on the part played by you in this tragedy. A message was sent
to Prince Thaddeus, who happened at this time to be at Zara. He came;
wept over his daughter's suicide; wondered what motive could have
prompted the deed, but never suspected the holy cardinal. Pasqual
Ravenna, do you deny the truth of this?"
No answer came from the accused.
"Cardinal, such guilt as yours would be ill-atoned for by an
after-life of penance in monastic cell, in sackcloth and ashes, with
scourgings and with diet of bitter herbs. But, untroubled by the
crime, dead to the voice of conscience, you mingle unashamedly with
your fellow-men, you aspire to play the statesman--nay, you hesitate
not to minister in the holiest rites of religion. Was it not enough
for you to have destroyed Natalie, but that you must seek to draw her
sister to your arms? And because our princess would remain virtuous
and good, you in your black rage would come forward at the coronation
to-morrow, and, by lying words--for none know better than yourself
that she is the lawful daughter of Thaddeus--you would seek to procure
her dethronement. Never slew I man yet, save with regret; now for the
first time do I take pleasure in killing a fellow-mortal.
"Pasqual Ravenna, your last hour has come. To-night shall Princess
Natalie's dying cry be answered. The maidens whom you have wronged
shall be avenged."
Something glittered in Zabern's hand. It was a surgical instrument of
steel, designed for forcing open the jaws of persons bent on keeping
them shut.
Holding this dreadful instrument, together with the poison-phial, in
his left and only hand, Zabern motioned Nikita and Gabor to grip the
cardinal by the arms.
"Give me ten minutes, ten minutes only, in the next apartment," gasped
Ravenna.
"For what purpose?"
"To--pray."
"I fail to see the use," responded Zabern dryly. "Heavens! Nikita, how
strangely constituted these churchmen must be to think that a life of
guilt may be atoned for by ten minutes of prayer."
"As you yourself hope for mercy at the last day, I beseech you to
grant me ten minutes--five, then--in the next room."
Zabern laid the steel and phial upon the table.
"You may have ten minutes' grace, but you will do your praying here."
"That apartment is an oratory," pleaded Ravenna.
"Let him have his wish, marshal," said Gabor.
"And see him escape us?" ejaculated Nikita fiercely.
"I cannot escape. There is no exit from the oratory, secret or open,
save by that door. The window is fifty feet from the ground."
Zabern, suspecting that Ravenna was trying to effect his escape,
approached the chamber in question, and found it to be an oblong
apartment, twenty feet by ten, fitted up as an oratory, and hung with
sacred pictures. At the far end, through a casement of stained glass,
arrowy beams of tender silvery moonlight slanted upon an altar,
surmounted by an ivory crucifix with waxen tapers burning before it.
There was an air of solemnity in the place which exercised an
influence even upon the stern mind of Zabern.
"Take your ten minutes," he exclaimed, pointing within, "but seek not
to escape, for my eye shall be on you the while."
Ravenna rose from his seat; in rising he purposely stumbled and fell,
and while so doing he contrived to secure possession of the letter
lying beneath the table, and to secrete it within the folds of his
cassock. Then with slow and faltering step he moved into the oratory,
and taking out his rosary, he knelt with bowed head before the altar.
Zabern, standing without, kept the door slightly open in order that he
might not lose sight of Ravenna's movements.
Gabor the trooper here put a very pertinent question.
"Marshal, since the Pope and his cardinals know the princess's secret,
what do we gain by killing the archbishop?"
"We stop his mouth from proclaiming the secret to-morrow," replied
Zabern.
"True. But afterwards--?"
"Afterwards, my good Gabor, no one shall be able to say that our
princess is not Natalie Lilieska. Was the real Natalie marked with a
mole upon her right shoulder? A friendly physician can soon produce
that disfigurement for us upon the fair skin of our princess."
Nikita laughed aloud.
"Is there any one living who can defeat the marshal?" he cried.
"There is one here who will make the attempt," said a voice.
At this the trio stared curiously at one another, for the words came
from the oratory, and had plainly been uttered by none other than the
cardinal. Recovering from his momentary surprise, Zabern, with sudden
misgiving at his heart, flung wide the door.
"Marshal Zabern," said the voice of Ravenna, "as you value the throne
of the princess, come not one step farther. Mark well what is in my
hand."
The window of the oratory, which before had been shut, was now wide
open, and the moonlight fell upon the lofty figure and pale face of
the cardinal, who was standing erect on one side of the altar. In his
right hand he held a dove, to the neck of which a letter was attached.
The sight kept the three men dumb and motionless, for they instantly
divined that the bird was a carrier-pigeon.
Ravenna's Italian guile had been more than a match for Zabern's
subtlety. His object in kneeling before the altar had not been to
pray, but to release the dove which had been attached to it by a
silken thread--a dove purposely kept for emergencies. What captain of
the guard on arresting the archbishop would be so stern-natured as to
refuse his prisoner a few minutes' prayer in his private oratory?
Ravenna, on releasing the dove, had affixed the letter to its neck,
performing the feat so guardedly, that though he had been watched, now
by Zabern, and now by Nikita, his movements had not given rise to
suspicion.
"Listen," cried Ravenna, raising his left hand warningly. "If you
enter I quit my hold of the dove. You observe the letter. Let me tell
you what it contains."
"Say on," returned Zabern with affected indifference. "Your ten
minutes have not yet expired."
"This evening," began the cardinal, "and just prior to your arrival I
penned a letter intended for the Czar's perusal. That letter now hangs
from this dove's neck. It contains three statements. Firstly, that the
Princess of Czernova is not Natalie Lilieska; secondly, that the
Czernovese Charter is a forgery from the hand of Katina Ludovska;
thirdly, that the Convent of the Transfiguration contains ample
evidence of a conspiracy for the emancipation of Poland. Each of these
facts, singly, if known to the Czar, would be sufficient to hurl the
princess from her throne. If this dove should fly forth it would be in
my nephew's house at Zamoska within thirty minutes; an hour more, and
Redwitz would be in the camp of the Czar. Thus, then, do I make my
terms. Approach to do me hurt, and I release the dove. Retire from the
palace, give me my life, and I swear by all that I hold holy to
refrain from endangering the throne of the princess. It is within
your power to murder me, but the murder will be dearly purchased, for
it will bring utter ruin upon Czernova."
"Idle vaunting!" said Zabern. "All know that the carrier-pigeon flieth
not in the dark."
"This dove has ere now found its way to Zamoska by moonlight."
That the cardinal spoke truth when he declared that the letter
contained the weighty secrets Zabern did not doubt. Therefore to
advance with intent to slay would be fatal to the interests of the
princess; and yet to retire, leaving Ravenna to his own devices would
be equally fatal, for Zabern knew full well that the cardinal's most
solemn oath was not to be trusted. So soon as the trio should
withdraw, so soon as Ravenna should be released from the fear of their
presence, he would laugh at their simplicity, and would carry out his
evil work against the princess, ay, and with more determination than
ever, embittered as he would be by the attempt made upon his life. It
was a terrible dilemma.
The trio stood upon the threshold of the oratory, immovable,
irresolute, silent, gazing at the cardinal, who in turn kept his eyes
fixed upon them like a prisoner waiting for the verdict of life or
death.
"No terms with a Jesuit," muttered Zabern under his breath. "Nikita,
you are the best shot. Draw your pistol, and shoot, not the cardinal,
but the dove."
As Zabern spoke he moved slightly to one side, in order to screen the
movements of his henchman.
Directly afterwards a report rang out, startlingly loud in that small
chamber. It was accompanied by a sharp cry of anguish from the
cardinal, and by a swift forward rush on the part of his foes, each
eager to pounce upon the fallen bird.
But, by a strange mischance, Nikita, who was considered to be second
only to Katina herself in the handling of the pistol, had somehow
failed to hit a conspicuous object seventeen feet away. The bullet had
penetrated the wrist of the cardinal, whose hand had involuntarily
relaxed its hold, with the result that the startled dove was now
flying forth through the open casement.
With the air of one mad, Zabern pulled Nikita towards the window, and,
hurling Ravenna aside, he thrust his own pistol into the trooper's
hand.
"Shoot, Nikita, shoot in God's name," he cried, pointing to the dove,
whose white form was clearly defined against the dark blue sky. "The
fate of all Czernova rests on your aim."
The bird, as if doubtful what direction to take, was moving slowly
round in a series of spirals and rising higher and higher each moment.
Nikita pointed his weapon, raising it gradually with the ascent of the
dove, till, deeming himself certain of his aim, he drew the trigger. A
second shot rang out. Both men looked, expecting the instant fall of
the dove, but the winged messenger remained unhurt, and apparently
having chosen its route, flew off in a straight line, and immediately
disappeared over the tree-tops.
"By heaven, you've missed again!" cried Zabern, his dismay being lost
for the moment in wonder that Nikita's hand should have so strangely
lost its cunning.
"God's curse is on me to-night," said Nikita, flinging the pistol from
him. "Who," he added, with a touch of Slavonic superstition, "who can
shoot a dove, symbol of the Holy Ghost?"
"Symbol of the holy devil!" cried Zabern. "Where's the cardinal?"
In his eagerness to mark the effect of Nikita's second shot Gabor had
likewise pressed forward to the casement, forgetful of Ravenna, who,
taking advantage of this negligence, picked himself up from the corner
where Zabern had flung him, and ran from the oratory into the
library. The wondering police next day traced his course over the
carpet by the blood-drops that fell from his shattered wrist.
But in a moment more the avenging Zabern was after him, his sabre
gleaming in his hand.
The cardinal had reached the locked door of the library: his unwounded
hand had turned the key; his fingers were already upon the door-handle
when Zabern, with a laugh of horrid glee, clutched him by the collar
of his cassock with the same hand that held the sabre, and pulled him
backward upon his knees.
The agony of the situation forced from Ravenna a yell that curdled the
blood of the treacherous steward who kept watch at the foot of the
staircase, but it had no effect upon Zabern.
"You paid no heed to Natalie's screams, nor will I to yours."
He thought no more now of safeguarding himself by imparting to the
murder the appearance of suicide.
"To hell, and say that Zabern sent you."
Foaming with fury, he dealt not one, but many strokes at the kneeling,
swaying figure, with its feebly upraised hands. Nikita and Gabor,
equally frenzied, joined in the savage work.
* * * * *
The three miserable men wiped their bloody sabres upon the
window-curtains, and stared down upon the carpet at something which
had once been a man.
The clock-tower of the cathedral now sent forth the sweet and pretty
carillon that always heralded the striking of the hour. Then after a
solemn interval came the first peal of midnight.
"The princess's coronation day!" said Nikita.
"Humph! will there be any coronation?" muttered Zabern.
"Hark to the shouting!" said Gabor.
From every quarter of the capital, from the groups moving to and fro
along the route of the intended procession, from spacious square and
narrow alley, from the brilliantly illuminated hotel, and from the
obscure private dwelling, came the sound of cheering, gradually
swelling into one prolonged universal roar. The gala-day had come at
last!
Zabern with a grim smile looked towards the north. The heaven in that
direction was tinged with a red glow from the thousands of watch-fires
in the Czar's camp--that camp towards which the swift-flying dove was
now winging its course with the tidings fatal to Czernova. How long
would it be ere that huge array came pouring across the border to
depose the princess, and to establish the duke upon--
Zabern started.
Ere the shouting of the joyous populace had died away, a new and
startling sound was reverberating through the night air. It was the
boom of a single cannon, and that at no great distance. Its
significance was intuitively divined by Zabern.
"The Citadel-gun!" he cried, recoiling from the window. "By God, the
duke has escaped!"