"Kill! kill!"
The lofty arches rang with excited cries. Even tender ladies, carried away by the heat of the moment, added their voices to those of the men. Paul, looking around upon the assembly, saw nothing but a forest of waving hands, and a multitude of fierce-gleaming eyes urging him to the bloody work.
"No quarter can be granted," said the herald. "You have each sworn an oath to slay, or be slain."
But inasmuch as Paul was not to be moved from his purpose, there was no other course left than to permit the duke to resume the combat.
"You have given him time to recover himself," grumbled Zabern, as he sat down again. "It is a violation of the rules."
During his discomfiture, Bora had glanced more than once at the Czar, as if supplicating his intervention. But the emperor sat impassive as a statue, ignoring the silent appeal. Relying on the duke's boastful assurances of victory, Nicholas had assented to the policy of the duel as a convenient and constitutional way of deposing the princess. It now seemed that this plan would fail. Then let the duke pay the penalty merited by his presumption. Woe to the man who deceives the Czar! Bora's heart sank within him at sight of the emperor's cold face.
The contest now entered upon its last, its fatal phase.
Equality had disappeared between the two champions; the duel was virtually over; the result known to all present; it was merely a question of time.
And the person most conscious of this was the duke himself. His confident swagger had vanished. He was fighting now, not for glory or a throne, but for dear life itself.
He made no attempt to assail Paul. Why should he? He could do no more than he had done. He had tried again and again to reach his adversary, and with graceful ease Paul had parried each cut and tierce. He could escape death only by some negligence on the part of his opponent, but that opponent was too keen to be caught erring.