ething sharp
and bright flashed out from a roll of parchment, catching the sun in a
streak of steely light.

[Illustration: "_Let the law deal with the madman; it is my will_"]

Leopold saw, but not in time to swerve. The crowd shrieked, rushed
forward, too late, and the blade would have drunk his life, had not
the girl who had felt all, seen all, struck up the arm before it fell.

The rest was darkness for her. She knew only that she was sobbing, and
that the great square with its crowded balconies, its ropes of green,
its waving flags, seemed to collapse upon her and blot her out.

* * * * *

It was Leopold who caught her as she swayed: and while the people
surged around the thwarted murderer, the Emperor sprang up the steps
of the great crimson platform, with the girl against his heart.

It was her blood that stained the pure white of his uniform, the blood
from her arm wounded in his defense. And holding her up he stood
dominating the crowd.

Down there at the foot of the steps, the man in gray and red was like
a spent fox among the hounds, and Leopold's people in the fury of
their rage would have torn him in pieces as the hounds tear the fox,
despite the cordon of police that gathered round him. But the voice of
the Emperor bade his subjects fall back.

"My people shall not be assassins," he cried to them. "Let the law
deal with the madman; it is my will. Look at me, alive and unhurt.
Now, give your cheers for the lady who has saved my life, and the
ceremonies shall go on."

Three cheers, had he said? They gave three times three, and bade fair
to split the skies with shouts for the Emperor. While women laughed
and wept and all eyes were upon that noble pair on the red platform,
something limp and gray was hurried out of sight and off to prison. On
a signal the national anthem began; the voices of the people joined
the brass instruments. All Kronburg was singing; or asking "Who is
she?" of the girl at the Emperor's side.

CHAPTER VII

THE HONORS OF THE DAY

It is those in the thick of the battle who can afterwards tell least
about it; and to the Princess those five minutes--moments the most
tremendous, the most vital of her life--were afterwards in memory like
a dream.

She had seen that a man was ghastly pale; she had caught a gleam of
fear in his eye; she had felt a tigerish quiver run through his frame
as the crowd pressed him against her. Instinct--and love