part I fail to detect the difference. As you walk through the streets

of Slavowitz you will certainly be taken for one of her _corps du garde_, known as the Blue Legion."

A strange suspicion entered Paul's mind.

"How old is the Princess Natalie?"

"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?

"A graceful head, a very graceful head," he remarked, returning the coin. "I should like to hear more of the fair lady."

"As many questions as you please."

"First, where did the Princess Natalie pass her childhood and youth?"

"Here in the city of Slavowitz and its vicinity. Of course she has had her travels like the rest of us, and has visited different European countries, but, speaking generally, she was reared and educated in the Vistula Palace, whose towers you can see rising behind yon cathedral spire."

Clearly not Barbara, for Barbara had spent her earlier years at Warsaw, her later in the Illyrian Convent of the Holy Sacrament.

"And what of her visit to Dalmatia?"

"That was undertaken two and a half years ago; at that time she was in a delicate state of health, and the physicians recommended a tour around the Adriatic. She travelled incognito with a slender suite under the care of Cardinal Ravenna."

"Who took her, among other places," thought Paul, "to Castel Nuovo, as is proved by the fragment of lace in the secret corridor."

"This tour was productive of singular results," continued Trevisa, musingly.

"In what way?"

"Well, it was to have lasted three months, but it was extended to six; and when the princess returned she was an altered being; I do not mean in appearance, I refer to her character."

Light began to dawn upon Paul. The Princess Natalie had not returned to Czernova; instead there had come her living image--Barbara!

"What remarkable development had the princess's character undergone?"

"Beforetime she was a gay and vivacious maiden. She returned grave and sedate. This change was attributed to the earthquake."

"The earthquake?"

"Yes. Don't you remember the great upheaval on the Dalmatian littoral two years ago?"

"Ah! I remember something of the sort, now I come to think of it."

"Well, the terrible scenes witnessed by Princess Natalie, together with her own nearness to death, seem to have sobered her from girlhood into womanhood. From that time she began to take a keen interest in state affairs, which she had previously regarded as boredom."

"Barbara was keenly interested in politics," thought Paul.

"Beforetime her predilections, if she had any, were in favor of Russia. She returned divested of her Muscovite sympathies."

"Barbara was decidedly an anti-Muscovite," thought Paul.

"But the greatest change--"

"Yes, the greatest change--?" repeated Paul, observing that the other had stopped short in his utterance with the air of one about to be betrayed into an imprudent statement.

As Trevisa did not reply, Paul drew a bow at a venture.

"The princess was reared in the Greek faith, I am given to understand? Humph! what was Prince Thaddeus thinking of when he placed his daughter under the tutelage of Cardinal Ravenna? One can guess the result. The princess went away a Greek, and came back a Catholic. Is it not so?"

"Hush!" muttered Trevisa, glancing around in some trepidation. "Yes, that is so. You have hit on a state secret, communicated only to her cabinet, and to me--her secretary. But, Paul, breathe not a word of this to any one, for the knowledge of it would shake her throne, and--"

He paused. There was a sudden commotion in the street below. Pedestrians had stopped in their walk, and were crowding to the edge of the pavement with their faces all set in one direction, whence came the distant sound of cheering and of clapping hands. The applause rolled in _crescendo_ along the boulevards, advancing nearer each moment to the two friends.

"Here comes the princess!" cried Trevisa, springing to his feet. Paul felt his heart beating as it had never beat before when he turned his eyes towards the approaching cavalcade.

First came a detachment of Polish uhlans, their burnished lances glittering in the morning sunshine, and the points decorated with black pennons that fluttered in the breeze.

The handsome regimentals of this _corps du garde_, the Blue Legion, promptly drew from Paul the remark,--

"Why, their uniform is the same as the Twenty-fourth Kentish!"

"A remark previously made by me," observed Trevisa, drily. "You are singularly forgetful, Paul."

On came the lancers at a swinging trot, followed by an open landau containing the princess.

A moment more and this carriage was abreast of the hotel, and as if fortune were favoring Paul, the vehicle was brought to a sudden stand-still opposite the balcony on which he stood.

The equipage was a dainty one, lined with pale blue silk, the arms of Poland gleaming in gold from the polished sable panel. The fine black horses, with coats like shining satin, were decked in silver harness.

But Paul saw nothing of this equipage; his eyes were set upon its occupant.

There, seated in graceful state, with silken sunshade poised above her head, and responsive to the plaudits of the people by sweet smiles and a courteous bending of her head, was--the youthful and beautiful Barbara!

The supreme joy of realizing that she was actually living so affected Paul that for a moment the whole street--Barbara, soldiers, people, buildings--became a confused swimming vision. A sound like the murmur of many waters filled his ears.

With difficulty he controlled his first impulse to descend the hotel steps, crying "Barbara! Barbara!" It set his teeth on edge afterwards when he recalled how near he had come to making a fool of himself. No, his first interview with her must not take place in the open street before a wondering, gaping throng.

Fearing lest she should glance upwards and recognize him, Paul drew aside behind a screen of aloes that decorated the balcony, and continued to watch.

Yes, it was truly Barbara. The convent-fugitive who had strolled with him through the pine-woods of Dalmatia, the Polish maiden whom he had held in his arms had become a real princess with a court, ministers, and an army at her command. The wonderment of it all! And though she had spent nearly a third of her life in a convent, yet there she sat with the air of one born in the purple. It was amazing, nay, charming, to mark the dignity and the ease with which she carried herself in her new state.

The landau of the princess had been stopped before the Hôtel de Varsovie in order to enable her to address two pedestrians, who, judging from the respect paid to them by the crowd, were persons of distinction in the little world of Czernova.

The first was an elderly, silver-haired man of fine presence, and distinguished by a stately, old-fashioned courtesy.

"Count Radzivil," replied Trevisa, in answer to Paul's question. "The prime minister of Czernova, brother of the celebrated Michael, who commanded the Polish insurgents of '30."

As the premier was old enough to be Barbara's grandfather, Paul could afford to view him with composure; but the case was very different with the other individual.

He was a man of lofty stature, and of broad, massive build, with a dark, handsome face set off with black eyes and a black beard. The sunbeams toyed with the silver eagle upon his helmet. His splendid uniform glittered with gold lace, stars, and orders. He carried himself erect, his left hand resting upon the hilt of his sabre; and it was clear that both in his own opinion, and also in the opinion of the crowd, he was a very grand personage indeed.

"Who's His Serene Tallness?"

"John the Strong, Duke of Bora, commander of the Czernovese army, a member of the cabinet, and the heir-apparent to the crown. He is first cousin to the princess, and likewise a near kinsman of the Czar."

Envy and misgiving stole over Paul as he contrasted his own inferior rank with that of the imperially-connected Bora. Barbara was bending forward in her carriage, laughing pleasantly, and apparently holding an animated conversation with the duke. One might almost have thought that she was exerting all her arts to please him.

Paul surveyed him more attentively, and quickly gauged his character,--an individual naturally sullen, of a somewhat slow intellect, yet not without ambition; a man upon whom the graces and restraints of polite life lay but lightly; a little provocation, and the savage would soon be in evidence. What could Barbara find in this man to interest her?

"Bora seems on excellent terms with the princess," said Paul.

"Naturally, seeing that he is to marry her."

"What?"

Paul's intonation was so sharp that Trevisa turned to survey him.

"Why, Paul, how white you're grown!"

"Merely a pang from an old wound. But your princess; she can't entertain any real love for _that_ fellow."

"Love was never fashionable at courts," smiled Trevisa. His words jarred upon Paul. If Barbara had become such that she could marry without any love on her side, then her nature must have sadly changed from what it was in the old sweet days at Castel Nuovo.

"It is a _mariage de convenance_," continued Trevisa, "tending to secure her position on the throne, and--but see, she is about to set off again."

The princess, having finished her conversation, drew off her right glove and extended her fair jewelled hand to the duke with a smile and graciousness of manner that roused all the jealousy in Paul's nature.

"She has forgotten me," he murmured bitterly. "Well, of course, she thinks me dead; but even if she knew otherwise, it is not likely that she will pay much regard to me now. And yet what were her words to me on the day that we were parted? 'If I were an empress, Paul, I would be your wife.' Humph! we shall see."

Bora raised the delicate hand to his lips amid the applause of the crowd, who seemed to regard the incident as a very pretty tableau.

Count Radzivil lifted his hat with courtly grace, and the next moment the landau was gliding smoothly along the Boulevard de Cracovie, followed by a detachment of cavalry similar in equipments to that which had preceded it.

Paul was left a victim to perplexing thoughts.

What had become of the real Princess Natalie, and why had Barbara assumed the name, title, and sceptre of the daughter of Thaddeus, personating the character with such art and tact as apparently to defy detection, since Trevisa, though long resident in Czernova, had no suspicion of the substitution that had taken place?

Had Barbara a just title to the throne? Recalling her air as she sat in the landau, Paul felt that he could not associate the appropriation of another's heritage with that winsome and dignified presence. No, difficult though it was to explain her conduct, he would believe anything rather than that she was a conscious and willing usurper.