But what booted it to resist? There, a few paces off, and sternly opposed to her, was the master of many legions, the lord of one-seventh of the globe, who had but to give the signal, and one hundred thousand troops would come marching across the border to do his will. She might have Right on her side, but he had Might, and bitterly did she realize the saying of the old Norse god: "Force rules the world; has ruled it; shall rule it."
Zabern, however, fertile in expedients, was not yet reduced to a state of despair. He had formed the plan of seizing the Czar as a prisoner of war, and of making his release conditional upon the cession of autonomy to Czernova. If Barbara should refuse to sanction this desperate scheme, well then he, Zabern, would act without her, finding a higher authority in the interests of the Czernovese. Much as he revered the princess, if that princess should refuse to be true to herself, it would behove him to put the state before the individual.
He was on the point of communicating his design to Barbara when Polonaski rose to speak.
"The hour is drawing to a close. She who calls herself princess has but five minutes left in which to appoint her champion."
At a sign from the Czar the Duke of Bora stepped forward to renew his challenge.
"Barbara Lilieska," he said amid a solemn hush, "I call upon you either to resign the crown you have usurped, or to defend it at the sword's point. Appoint your champion. My desire is for a man that we may fight together."
"Have, then, your desire!" cried a firm, clear voice.
All eyes were immediately turned towards the speaker who had just entered the cathedral by the western porch,—a young man with face bronzed as if by eastern suns, his handsome, athletic figure arrayed in a dark-blue uniform with silver facings.
"Paul Woodville, by all that's holy!" cried Zabern in an ecstacy of delight.
"The man who defeated me at Tajapore," murmured the Czar darkly.