Czernova, being but a small state, was dependent for its freedom, not upon strength of arms but upon the arts of diplomacy, and in those arts Zabern was without a rival. Prince Metternich and Count Nesselrode came off second-best when they played their game with the Polish patriot.
No man ever wore the mantle of Ananias with more ease and grace, and when rebuked half-playfully, half-seriously by the princess for some brilliant piece of deception, calculated to make the most daring diplomatist stand aghast, he would merely reply: "The truth is, your Highness, each of us was trying to deceive the other; I happened to be the greater liar of the two, and so I succeeded. With two empires like Austria and Russia pressing upon our borders and endeavoring to annex us, it would be folly to act on the lines of the Sermon on the Mount. We'll wait till they set us the example."
It was only natural that, as a refugee from Siberia, he should be an object of hatred to the bureaucracy of St. Petersburg, and extradition having failed to secure his person, recourse was had to darker methods, and Zabern had come to regard attempts upon his life as all in the day's work.
Such was Marshal Zabern, the leading member of the Czernovese ministry, for Radzivil's premiership was purely nominal. None knew better than the count himself that he had been selected by the princess mainly to gild the cabinet with a famous historic name.
Radzivil had been narrating to the marshal the incident of the fracas between Paul and the Duke of Bora.
To the premier's surprise Zabern received the news with an air of grim satisfaction.
"Why, count, this is manna from heaven. Have you told the others?" he added, meaning by that expression the rest of the ministry.
"Yes, and the opinion of one and all is that the princess must be called upon to intervene."
Zabern smiled with the air of one who should say, "A parcel of old women!"
"Count," he said, assuming an authoritative manner, "this duel must take place. The good of the state requires it."