A glance at the old man at her side showed her the stern, commanding features of her sire molded in an expression of haughty dignity; only the slight movement of the muscles of the strong jaw revealed the tensity of the hidden emotions of the stern old warrior.  He was meeting disappointment and defeat as a Von der Tann should—­brave to the end.

The crown had all but touched the head of Peter of Blentz when a sudden commotion at the back of the cathedral caused the bishop to look up in ill-concealed annoyance.  At the sight that met his eyes his hands halted in mid-air.

The great audience turned as one toward the doors at the end of the long central aisle.  There, through the wide-swung portals, they saw mounted men forcing their way into the cathedral.  The great horses shouldered aside the foot-soldiers that attempted to bar their way, and twenty troopers of the Royal Horse thundered to the very foot of the chancel steps.

At their head rode Lieutenant Butzow and a tall young man in soiled and tattered khaki, whose gray eyes and full reddish-brown beard brought an exclamation from Captain Maenck who commanded the guard about Peter of Blentz.

“Mein Gott—­the king!” cried Maenck, and at the words Peter went white.

In open-mouthed astonishment the spectators saw the hurrying troopers and heard Butzow’s “The king!  The king!  Make way for Leopold, King of Lutha!”

And a girl saw, and as she saw her heart leaped to her mouth.  Her small hand gripped the sleeve of her father’s coat.  “The king, father,” she cried.  “It is the king.”

Old Von der Tann, the light of a new hope firing his eyes, threw aside his cloak and leaped to the chancel steps beside Butzow and the others who were mounting them.  Behind him a hundred cloaks dropped from the shoulders of his fighting men, exposing not silks and satins and fine velvet, but the coarse tan of khaki, and grim cartridge belts well filled, and stern revolvers slung to well-worn service belts.

As Butzow and Barney stepped upon the chancel Peter of Blentz leaped forward.  “What mad treason is this?” he fairly screamed.

“The days of treason are now past, prince,” replied Butzow meaningly.  “Here is not treason, but Leopold of Lutha come to claim his crown which he inherited from his father.”

“It is a plot,” cried Peter, “to place an impostor upon the throne!  This man is not the king.”

For a moment there was silence.  The people had not taken sides as yet.  They awaited a leader.  Old Von der Tann scrutinized the American closely.

“How may we know that you are Leopold?” he asked.  “For ten years we have not seen our king.”

“The governor of Blentz has already acknowledged his identity,” cried Butzow.  “Maenck was the first to proclaim the presence of the putative king.”

At that someone near the chancel cried:  “Long live Leopold, king of Lutha!” and at the words the whole assemblage raised their voices in a tumultuous:  “Long live the king!”