Paul, it seems, had been gone but a few minutes, when the door of the great hall was flung open and a half-dozen men burst in. It was then that Peter gave a great shout to alarm the household, and in response to which a handful of servants rushed in, Alexander Andrieff, the red-bearded overseer, among them. All the men were masked, not only their foreheads, but their faces right down to their chins being hidden in black. The man who led them stepped forward and ordered the servants back; and they retreated. A couple of armed and masked men sufficed to keep the few domestics penned in the corner. Two others were stationed on the stairs to check any advances in that direction, while two others kept the passages closed against all further comers. At the head of the intruders the leader walked swiftly towards Peter, who had advanced to meet him. "Get back, Peter Vseslavitch," said the leader, still in a pleasant and easy voice; "get back, or I will not answer for your life." Peter checked himself, but craned his head forward. "By heaven!" he said in a low voice, "I believe that is you, Boris!" "Never mind who I may be, but keep your tongue still. Unless you wish it to be forever quieted, refrain from mentioning names in my presence. "Now turn about, if you please, and get back near the wall." Mademoiselle's brother was a strong, courageous man. But what may one do against such odds? He looked straight and steadily at the veiled eyes of the intruder, and declined to turn about. So for a brief instant they stood. The bluster of the storm had effectually drowned any noise of the disturbance except for those who had heard Peter's cry for help. Among them was Baxter. At a glance, he had taken in the position of affairs. Nor did he hesitate for a moment. Breaking into a run, he dashed across the hall toward a wall where hung a heavy sword, an heirloom that had not been used for a hundred years. Before he could be stopped he tore it from its fastenings and started toward the nearest of the ruffians, who brought him to a standstill with a revolver. The leader noted his progress, and turned about and cried, "Keep that man away. If he moves another foot--shoot!" Baxter threw one contemptuous glance at Boris (for it was he) and came on. The man hesitated to fire. "Fire! you fool," shouted Boris, but the man still held his hand and hesitated so long that Baxter had gripped the barrel of his revolver in his left hand before the fellow quite realized what was happening. If the man had scruples, Boris had none. His revolver spoke quickly, and Baxter, with a little cough, fell forward on his face. Turning from his butcher's work, Boris whipped round to meet the terror-stricken eyes of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch. "It is not my fault," he said, "that you have been compelled to look on this." Then his voice rang out clear and hard. "Gentlemen," he cried, "I have no desire to create further disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well."