"She celebrated her nineteenth birthday last week."
"Barbara, if she were living, would be twenty-one by this time," murmured Paul to himself; and then aloud he added: "And you say that the princess is very beautiful?"
"Be thyself the judge," smiled Trevisa. "Within a quarter of an hour from now she will pass along this boulevard on her way to the Mazeppa Gardens. From the balcony here you will have a good view of her."
"Haven't you her portrait upon you?"
"At present I have with me no other likeness than this."
And here Trevisa drew forth a gold-piece, bright as if fresh from the mint.
"The new coinage, issued this week. Reverse—the double-headed eagle, the ancient arms of Poland. Obverse—the profile of the princess with the legend 'Natalia, Princeps Czern. Amat. Patr.' 'Natalie, Princess of Czernova, Lover of her Country.' Did the goddess Athene carry a more dainty head than this?"
Paul took the coin, glanced at the obverse, and then sat in a state wavering between belief and unbelief.
Was this golden disc really stamped with the head of Barbara? So it seemed to Paul. At any rate, if her profile had been engraved on metal with due regard to fidelity, it would have differed little or nothing from that on the coin.
Then a new idea seized him, and one more consonant with probability. Was this the profile of the maiden whose portrait he had seen in the cardinal's secret study at Castel Nuovo—the maiden with the laughing eyes, the sceptre and the diadem?