The murmur of the restless populace without penetrated to the interior of the palace, and was heard by the wretched duke. Was he to die with the sound of the coronation-mirth ringing in his ears?
In the ante-chamber Zabern halted his troop and returned to the side of the princess.
"This instrument lacks your Highness's signature," he remarked, presenting her with the warrant for the duke's execution.
"On occasions such as this," murmured Barbara, taking the document, "one is tempted to say with Saint Vladimir, 'Who am I that I should shed blood?'"
"And yet Vladimir shed a good deal, if history speak truth," responded Zabern, "and therefore became he a saint after Russia's own heart. Your Highness, this is no time for pity. It is a question of your life or the duke."
The princess appended a name to the warrant.
"I fear," observed Zabern, with a grave smile, "that the captain of the firing-party will question the authority of that signature."
The princess looked, and to her surprise saw that she had subscribed herself not "Natalie Lilieski," but "Barbara Tressilian!" She had unwittingly written her mother's maiden name.
She did not erase the signature, but proceeded to indite a fresh warrant. She wrote very slowly, pondering as she wrote. What would the real Natalie have thought, said, or done, if she were living now and saw her elder sister signing the death-warrant of her lover?
With a sigh she handed the document to the marshal, who immediately returned it with a very strange look. And there, staring at her from the paper, were the self-same words as before—"Barbara Tressilian!"