The thought that he might be trying to entrap me made me draw and cock my pistol as I followed close at his heels. He conducted me past the boyar’s rooms to a dark, narrow stone stair, leading down, as I concluded, to the cellars. I did not like the appearance of it, but reflected that my archenemy was stiff and stark, and this man seemed nothing more than an ignorant servant. He did not stop to see if I followed, and was already half-way down the steps when I began the descent, feeling my way cautiously, and keeping my weapon ready as I went. Having reached the lower floor, he led me through a tortuous passage in the dark and damp cellars, pausing at last before a heavy door. “She is here,” he said, pointing at it with his finger. “Open it, you knave!” I said sharply. “Where is the key?” he retorted sullenly. For the moment I could almost have laughed in the bitterness of my chagrin at my own folly, and then thinking of the boyar’s keys, I drew out the bunch and began to fumble with them. “That is the key,” he said, indicating a large one; and as I loosened it from the others he put it in the lock, and in a moment the heavy door stood open, revealing a small room dimly lighted by the lantern swinging from a chain in the center of the ceiling. Taking the precaution to remove the key from the lock, I walked in without ceremony. For a moment I thought that I had been duped, for the cell was empty; then I saw that it had another door, which stood ajar, and I struck the hilt of my sword upon it with a blow that made an echo in the gloomy place. Instantly there was a sound in the inner room, and Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s startled face appeared at the door. At the sight of me, she uttered a plaintive shriek and fell fainting in my arms. Cursing my luck and her folly, I carried her into the other cell and laid her on the rough couch there. Finding some water, I dashed it liberally in her face, and was relieved to see signs of recovery. My conscience reproached me for my anger, too, when I saw how white and miserable she looked, like a woman who had endured much; even her wiry little curls hung limp and dishevelled. She recovered almost as quickly as she had fainted, and when fully conscious, clung to my hand with feverish energy. “How did you find me?” she moaned. “I had given up all hope, and expected to die here in the cellar, if that awful man did not kill me outright. And oh, tell me! where is Zénaïde?” “That is the question that I was about to put to you, mademoiselle,” I replied gloomily; “I hoped devoutly that you could tell me where to find her.” “Alas!” she cried, looking at me with new anxiety, “I have not seen her since we were so roughly parted, and I have constantly hoped that she escaped.” She was quivering all over with nervous excitement, and I saw that I must be patient with her. I sat down beside her.