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!"