He marked with secret pleasure the shiver of wounded pride on the part of Barbara, and clenched his remarks with the question,—
"Knowing what I can effect, do you still maintain your defiance of me?"
"I do," responded Barbara, quietly. "Believing myself to be the lawful princess of Czernova, I shall hold to my throne. Girt around with earthly perils, I tranquillize my mind by looking above, confiding in the justice of heaven."
That any one should think of trusting to such a shadowy weapon as the justice of heaven drew a sneer from the atheistic cardinal.
"The history of Poland should have taught you that God is always on the side of the strong." And then, conscious of the futility of further argument, he made a mock bow, and with the words, "Farewell, Princess Lackland," he withdrew from the saloon.
Barbara retired to her own private apartments, and was seen no more that day, save by her personal attendants.
Her belief in her legitimacy had rested upon her father's word; but how if he had deceived her? The thought that she might be of illicit birth rankled in her mind, poisoning all her happiness. She clenched her hands in agony, and unable to sit still, paced restlessly to and fro.
The spirit of justice was deep-planted within Barbara's breast; a throne unlawfully held had no attractions for her; if she could be certain that the cardinal's statement were true, then, bitter though the duty might be, she must resign the crown of Czernova to her enemy Bora. But she was not certain, and therein lay the torture. She would have no peace of mind till the question should be settled, and unfortunately the circumstances of the case seemed to preclude the possibility of solving the doubt.
When Zabern next day sought the presence of the princess, he was struck by her pallid complexion and melancholy air.
"The cabinet," he muttered to himself, mistaking the cause of her sadness, "will have to recall Woodville, or our princess's health will give way. Your Highness," he said aloud, "Dorislas has just proposed a conundrum."