The procession was timed to start at ten o'clock, and as the hour drew near Zabern and the premier rode to the entrance of the palace, and there waited the coming of the princess.
The marshal was mounted upon a magnificent black charger, and made a splendid figure, for he wore the old picturesque Polish costume, and sparkled with diamonds from plume to spur.
"And to think," he mused in the interval of waiting, "to think that Captain Woodville has not yet arrived."
"Captain Woodville?" exclaimed the premier with a start. "Surely the princess is not recalling him?"
"No, but I am; and his non-arrival is a grave matter for us. Were the duke still in the Citadel, Woodville's absence might be borne with equanimity. As it is—but here comes the princess. I must defer my explanation."
Punctually at one minute to ten, Barbara appeared at the entrance of the palace, and descending the marble stairs, she mounted her white palfrey with the assistance of Radzivil.
Zabern at the same moment waved his plumed cap, and immediately a salvo of artillery from the roof of the palace proclaimed to the waiting populace that the princess was about to set off.
Amid the roll of drums, the crash of music, and the pealing of bells from every steeple in the city, the great brazen gates of the palace gardens were flung wide, and there rode forth the head of the procession, the Blue Legion, their lances flashing brightly in the sunlight.
As they moved out, the sight that met their eyes was sufficient to stir the blood of the most sluggish. The centre of the road was empty, but the sidewalks were literally paved with human heads. Every window, balcony, and roof was alive with spectators. All Czernova was there, every citizen apparently determined to find a place somewhere along the line of route. Resolved to obtain a view somehow of their youthful sovereign, men could be seen clinging in mid-air to steeples, pediments, cornices, wherever foothold could be found. From the ground below to the sky above nothing but human faces.
"Sword of Saint Michael!" muttered Zabern. "A pity all have not been trained to use the rifle. We might, then, make good defence, even against the Czar's one hundred thousand."