"Stop!"
I dropped my hand to my side pocket, and felt my fingers close over the handle of my revolver, and looked toward Grand Duke Marbosa. He was standing among the scarlet uniforms, his hand upon his sword hilt, looking with startled attention at the Patriarch. He did not move, and I knew that the interruption had not come from him. The Red Fox, his eyes starting from their sockets, his thin lips moving as if in prayer, his bloodless hands grasping his son's sword, was staring at King Gregory.
Then I realized that it was the old King who had spoken. He was facing the multitude with upraised hand, his red face growing redder under the stress of excitement.
"Teskla, my daughter, come hither," he said.
The strain was too great for the Red Fox's shattered nerves. He unconsciously released his hold upon the Prince's sword, and it fell with a loud clatter to the floor. An audible sigh of broken suspense went wavering through the entire length of the huge Cathedral at this second interruption. The High Priest paused, holding the crown suspended above the Prince's bowed head. The two might have been turned to stone.
"Holy Patriarch," began the King, addressing the altar, "I crave your pardon most humbly for this intrusion. But, before you place the crown upon the Prince Raoul's head, before I cease to be King in Bharbazonia, there is one last act which I wish to perform. I will not long detain you."
While he spoke, Princess Teskla, surprise and dread written upon every lineament of her handsome face, walked haltingly toward the King. He placed one arm affectionately over her shoulder and faced the nobles.
"You men of Bharbazonia, Grand Dukes and nobles assembled," he said, "have not forgotten the ancient law of the Virgin. You are aware that he who salutes one such publicly upon the lips, under the reading of that law defiles her. For such an act there is but one reparation."
"We know," thundered the nobles in chorus.
"Holy Father," continued the King, facing the Patriarch, "will you tell us what that reparation is."