In the centre of the great doors, as in most old Italian entrances, there was a small barred square panel, the width of a man’s hand which could be slid back, leaving the grating open, and thus a parley could be effected without danger. Cyrille drew back the panel, and standing on one side of the grating, where none could see or touch him, said in a clear voice: “Why come you here armed?” “Open, and you will know,” answered the voice of Alcide, and they cursed him. “I do not open to threats. Say your errand, or depart.” They cursed him again. “We shall have your blood,” said their spokesman. “We come for that. We shall not be balked. We will burn you out like a live hog smoked from his lair.” Cyrille closed the panel. The group without roared with fury like wild boars, and threw themselves with all their weight against the doors. “You could have shot him through the grating,” said Caterina, with her face gray and stern. “Why did you not? It was Alcide who spoke.” “I know it was,” replied Cyrille. “Why did you not shoot him?” He was silent. He could not have made her understand the reluctance to shed blood which had held his hand. The hideous uproars of a ravenous pack was now let loose upon the stillness of the summer midnight. They fired at the doors. The shots recoiled harmlessly. They were all armed merely in the rude manner of the woods. They had expected to be admitted from within, and the disappointment baffled and drove them mad. “Burn him out!” cried their ringleader. “There is brushwood in the sheds.” By the sound of the trampling feet and lessening shouts he could tell that they were gone where the firewood used by the household was stored in sheds beside the stackyard and stables. “They will try to burn us out,” said Cyrille. “But the house is like a rock.” The old woman shrugged her shoulders. “You could have shot the worst of them and you did not. He will roast you, as he says, like a spitted hog.” “I cannot kill a man in cold blood,” he replied, and he pressed the portrait in his breast closer to him. But he knew that they would doubtless do what they threatened. The solid house would resist long, but it could not resist all night. If they brought wood enough and fired it, sooner or later those within would perforce fall a prey to the smoke and the flames. Rather than perish so, he thought he would open and go out, and fall fighting. But to do so would be to expose the whole place to certain pillage; and he was there as the representative and trustee of the owners. In a few minutes there was no doubt as to the intentions of the marauders. They returned dragging with them quantities of brushwood and faggots, and by the sound he could tell that they were piling them up before the principal entrance; the voice of Alcide was loudest in command and objurgation. “Fire you through the peephole, sir,” said Caterina. She was gray with horror, but she did not cry out, or give any sign of cowardice.