“That is the movement of men,” thought Cyrille, with a sick sense of certainty. He listened a moment longer to make sure that it was not a breeze rising which stirred the foliage; then, with his impression confirmed, he left the loggia, and descended the stairway to where old Caterina sat in his chamber telling her beads. “There are persons approaching,” he said to her; “and they can come for no good.” “They come, thinking you are asleep, and that one of the doors has been left open for them. How many are there?” “I cannot tell. But several.” Caterina shook her head. “If help could come--but how should any help come? We are cut off from all.” “Hark! they are crossing the grass. In a moment they will be at the great doors.” “They expect Dreina will open for them, the wretched baggage!” For a moment or two there was silence, then a crossing of confused voices became audible through the heavy timber of the closed doors. “Let them think me asleep,” murmured Cyrille, and he covered the entrance with his revolver. He could not tell who were there without, nor in what numbers; their purpose it was easy to imagine. It was also probable that they were for the instant nonplussed finding no one there ready to admit them. But he knew that they would not long let this baffle them. “Go and hide somewhere, good Caterina,” he murmured to her. “It unnerves me to know you are here.” “Do not think of me, sir,” said the stout old woman. “I am of no use, but I will be of no hindrance. It is strange to me that the girl Muriella did not hear of this and warn us. When did you see her last?” “Three days ago, I think.” His voice was drowned in the sound of iron striking wood as the blow of hatchets fell on the oak of the great doors. But every inch of the wood was studded with great nails in front and plated with iron behind, and the axes made but little progress. “Try the side doors,” said a voice in which he recognised Alcide’s. “The strumpet Dreina has played us false.” The feet of a score of men trampled on the marble of the terrace running round the buildings. But the side doors were armoured in the same way, and had been all bolted and barred. The assailants realised that they would not enter by those means; they began to swear savagely amongst each other. They had not crossed the turf as yet. “Poor Caterina!” said Cyrille; “would to heaven you were in safety.” “It is not me whom they come after. Forgive me, sir; but is there much money in the strong-box?” “Happily not. I sent an express with the proceeds of three months’ sales to Rome last week.” “That will make them mad.” “If they get in. I hope to keep them out. I shall not open to them--of that you may be sure.” She was a stout-hearted old woman; she laughed a little grimly.