Two hours passed in almost silent waiting. The only movements were those of the marquise in tending her son. Then, about two o’clock, they heard some one try the handle of the door at the end of the passage. Burton had locked it. In a moment there was a tap at the door. No one answered. It was repeated, louder and more energetically. Burton nodded to Pierre. "What is it?" the man asked in German. "The Herr Major; is he here?" "Yes; he is resting; he must not be disturbed." Footsteps were heard receding. The sentry was apparently satisfied. "We must give them warning some time before dawn," said Burton, "otherwise the man Vossling will carry out his orders, and set fire to the staircase." "Knowing that the major is in this wing?" said the general. "He may not know that. On the other hand he may. Then he will suspect that something is wrong. In the one case, we should be burnt alive; in the other, the man would be uneasy and come to wake the major. But the longer we delay the more chance of relief. The sun rises at about half-past six; the place was to be fired before dawn. How will the orderly interpret his instructions?" "It is a nice calculation," said the marquis, who with renewed strength had recovered his keenness. "Will he wait until the darkness begins to thin, or abstain from setting up a rival to the sunlight? I do not know the German mind." Time dragged for Burton. The marquis and his man dozed; the marquise, in the intervals of her ministrations, read a book of Hours. The slow clock ticked on the mantelshelf; three struck, and four. At a little after four there was a loud knock on the door. "At last!" said Burton, half in relief, half in misgiving. The old men started up, and grasped each a revolver. The lady put down her book and clasped her hands on her lap, pressing her lips together as if to shut in a cry. "Who is there?" demanded Burton in French. "Where is Major Schwikkard?" came the answer. An officer was speaking. Burton saw that further concealment was useless. "He is here," he called down the passage, "a prisoner." The German swore. "You dogs! You imbeciles!" he shouted, shaking the door. "Let me in. What do you mean by this buffoonery? If it is your trick, you white-headed old fool, you shan’t escape hanging because you were once a soldier. You and your man are civilians in arms. You shall die by inches. Let me in, I say." There was no reply. The officer shook the door again. "Force it with your shoulder, Vossling," he said with an oath. The door creaked, but the lock held. Next moment there was a crash; he had blown in the lock with a shot from his revolver. But the door banged against the wardrobe placed behind it. The German swore again. Then there was silence. In a few minutes, several voices were heard. "Remove this barricade, you old French fools," said the captain, in a voice thick with sleep, wine and rage, "or we will blow the place to atoms."