As soon as Barbara made her appearance, she was greeted with frenzied cheering. Roar after roar rent the air. Rolling along the boulevard, and mounting upward to the sky, the sound was almost loud enough to be heard in the distant camp of the Czar. So great was the enthusiasm that the troops lining the streets could with difficulty prevent the populace from pressing forward to touch her.
If any dissentients to her rule were present along the line of route, they were careful to dissemble their feelings. But who could dissent from a maiden so sweet and fair? Dressed simply in white silk, she looked every inch a princess. Her dark hair was without covering, save for a slender gold diadem, from which there flowed behind a veil of diaphanous lace.
Tears glistened in eyes that had not been wet for years.
Aged men who had seen the great Kosciusko carried off from the fatal field of Macicowice; veterans who, like Zabern, had marched with Napoleon to the fall of Moscow; fugitives from Siberian mines, with bodies scarred by the iron fetters they had worn; Polish patriots, survivors of the ill-starred rising of '30—all were gathered that day in the Czernovese capital to acclaim one destined, so they believed, to revive the ancient empire of Poland. Many a salute did Zabern give, as from time to time he caught sight among the crowd of the face of some old familiar-in-arms.
Barbara, however, though smiling sweetly upon all around, was inwardly unhappy. A secret voice seemed to whisper, "Deceiver! this tribute of loyalty is offered to Natalie Lilieska, the lawfully born daughter of the Princess Stephanie, and not to the Barbara of doubtful origin."
It was too late now to recede from the rôle she had assumed, and so amid shouting multitudes she rode on, her progress from the palace to the cathedral being one continuous scene of triumph, unmarred by anything of a hostile character.
"It is here, then, that we are to look for the Czar's coup?" muttered Zabern, as the cavalcade drew in sight of the stately Gothic cathedral of Saint Stanislas, from every tower of which silver-tongued bells were pealing jubilant carillons.
Those in the procession whose duty or privilege it was to enter the cathedral, made their ingress by various doors to their appointed places; the less fortunate remained drawn up in order around the edifice.
As Zabern stood upon the broad flight of steps, carpeted with crimson velvet, and surveyed the vast crowds around, his attention was suddenly arrested by the sight of a horseman at the far end of a boulevard which opened upon the cathedral square. As this avenue was kept clear by the military for the return journey of the princess, there was nothing to impede the rider's progress, and on he came with flying rein and bloody spur.
"A courier! a courier!" cried the people, instinctively divining that he was the bearer of weighty tidings. "What news? What news?"