The reader has doubtless recognized Musdœmon and the four armed retainers who formed the count’s escort. As the torchlight filled the room with its ruddy glow, the five new-comers paused in horror-stricken dismay; and it was indeed an awful sight. On the one hand, the bloody remains of the wolf, the disfigured body of the young officer; on the other, the father, with his wild eyes and frantic shrieks; and beside him the fearful monster, turning on his assailants a hideous front, indicative of dauntless surprise. At the sight of this unlooked-for reinforcement the idea of vengeance took possession of the count, and roused him from his despair. “Death to that brigand!” he cried, drawing his sword; “he has murdered my son! Kill him! kill him!” “Has he murdered Mr. Frederic?” said Musdœmon; and the torch in his hand did not reveal the slightest change in his countenance. “Kill him! kill him!” repeated the frantic count. And the whole six rushed upon the robber. He, surprised by this sudden attack, retreated toward the opening which overhung the precipice, with a fierce roar, expressive rather of rage than fear. Six swords were directed against him, and his eyes flamed forth greater fury, while his features wore a more menacing expression than those of any of his aggressors. He had grasped his stone axe, and, forced by the number of his assailants to confine himself to defensive action, whirled it round and round in his hand so rapidly that the circle described, covered him like a shield. A myriad sparks flashed from the point of his assailants’ swords as they clashed against the edge of the hatchet; but not a single blade touched him. And yet, exhausted by his recent battle with the wolf, he lost ground imperceptibly, and soon found himself driven close against the door opening upon the abyss. “Courage, friends!” shouted the count; “let us hurl the monster over this precipice.” “Before I fall, the stars themselves shall fall,” replied the brigand. But the aggressors redoubled their ardor and their assurance as they saw that the small man was compelled to descend one step of the flight which overhung the abyss. “Good! one effort more!” cried the lord chancellor; “he needs must fall; push your advantage! Wretch, you have committed your last crime. Courage, men!” While with his right hand he continued his fearful evolutions with the axe, the brigand, without deigning a reply, with his left hand grasped a horn which hung at his belt, and raising it to his lips, again and again blew a long, hoarse blast, which was answered suddenly by a roar from the gulf beneath. A few instants later, as the count and his followers, still pressing the little man hard, rejoiced that they had driven him down a second step, the huge head of a white bear appeared at the broken end of the staircase. Struck dumb with amazement and fright, they shrank back. The bear climbed the stairs with a lumbering gait, showing his bloody jaws and sharp teeth as he did so.