The high gable end of the barn, which was still standing, began to crack under the action of the intense heat, and swayed outward, threatening to crush anyone who should attempt to pass. If they waited a second it would fall; then they would pass, however difficult the undertaking. That is what everyone thought, and they all waited. But seconds and minutes succeeded one another and the wall did not fall. And those seconds and minutes were centuries in the plight in which the marquis was at that instant. With about half a score of his men, he was face to face with the whole troop of gypsies, still numbering about thirty combatants. Four hours had passed since Mario had escaped under the _sarrasine_; and in those four hours the bandits had not once thought of gorging themselves again. The first intoxication of their victory and the first gluttony of their appetite had soon given place to the persistent hope of obtaining possession of the château. They had tried all methods to make their way in by surprise. Several of them had fallen, thanks to the vigilance of Adamas and Aristandre, seconded by the presence of mind, sound advice and incessant activity of Lauriane and the Moor. Finding all their efforts unavailing, they had set fire to the barn, hoping to induce the besieged to make a sortie in order to save the buildings and crops. Not without expending vast treasures of eloquence did the sage Adamas succeed in restraining Aristandre, who would have thrown himself head foremost into the trap. Indeed it was necessary for Lauriane to exert her authority, and to point out to him that, if he should fall in his undertaking, all the poor creatures shut up in the château, beginning with herself, were irrevocably lost. During the hour that the barn had been burning, Aristandre, in a frenzy of exasperation, had exhausted all the oaths and imprecations in his vocabulary. Condemned to inaction, he was fuming and fretting, and even cursing Adamas and Lauriane, Mercedes and young Clindor, who also preached patience--in a word all those who prevented him from acting--when Adamas, who had climbed to the top of the tower-staircase, shouted to him from the cupola: "Monsieur is there! monsieur is there! I can't see him, but he is there. I will swear to it! for they are fighting, and I am sure that I recognized his voice above all the rest." "Yes, yes!" cried Mercedes from one of the windows on the courtyard; "Mario must be there, for little Fleurial is like a mad creature; he has smelt him. Look! I cannot hold him!" "Aristandre!" cried Lauriane, "go out! Let us all go out; it is time!" Aristandre had already gone. Heedless whether anybody followed him or not, he darted to the marquis's side and delivered him from La Flèche, who, supple as a snake, had leaped to the saddle behind him, and was suffocating him in his wiry, muscular arms, but could not succeed in unhorsing him.