Filled with this fear he was about to dash off after the two boats when a cry from Ouvaroff stopped him. Looking where the Prince looked he saw a face, ghastly in the moonlight, the face of Arcadius Baranoff. “Save me,” he gurgled, his mouth full of water. “I cannot swim; I’m drowning!” “The Count must take his chance,” thought Wilfrid, and he was on the point of turning away when he caught a gleam as of floating gold locks beneath the hands of Baranoff. It was a sight that filled Wilfrid’s heart with horror and sent a cry of vengeance to his tongue. The coward Count was clinging to the struggling Empress! Unable to swim, he was seeking to gain a foothold in the water by resting his hands upon the head and shoulders of the Czarina, indifferent as to _her_ fate, provided _he_ might be rescued. But for this grip Marie could easily have made her way to the shore. She slipped from his grasp and rose above the surface, fighting desperately for breath. A moment only was her white face visible; Baranoff had caught her again by the shoulders and the two immediately sank. “The coward! He’ll drown her!” cried Wilfrid. A few strokes brought him to the place of their disappearance. Fearing that she might rise no more Wilfrid swam downwards without coming upon either of them. Unable to hold his breath longer he rose to the surface and saw Baranoff, a few feet away, drifting with the current, still clinging to the Czarina. “I’m drowning! I’m drowning!” he screamed in a paroxysm of terror. In another moment Wilfrid and Ouvaroff were by his side. “Let go your hold, or I’ll kill you!” said the furious Prince, and, clutching the Count by the back of his collar, he forced his head under the water, a diversion that caused Baranoff to relax his grasp, while at the same time Wilfrid seized the unconscious Czarina and holding her head above the surface, struck out immediately for the shore. Prince Sumaroff, who had witnessed the catastrophe without being able to render any aid, descended the steps as Wilfrid drew near with his burden. “I trust the lady lives,” he said preparing to assist her from the water. “If not, Russia will mourn its Empress,” replied Wilfrid, revealing the Czarina’s face to the gaze of the petrified Prince. CHAPTER XXXIII RECONCILIATION For three hours the unconscious Czarina lay as one dead; then life began slowly to return, news received with feelings of intense relief by Wilfrid and Ouvaroff, who, seated by the cheerful light of a log-fire—Prince Sumaroff, it seemed, hated the national stove—were discussing the situation. “It’s satisfactory to know that Baranoff has gone to his long account,” remarked Wilfrid. “It’s impossible to be sorry,” returned Ouvaroff, “though I would have saved the unworthy wretch if I could, but he sank like lead, and never rose again.” The entrance of Prince Sumaroff put an end to this conversation.