“At that announcement Zénaïde would no longer listen to reason, but opened the panel. There stood a slight young fellow, not much more than a lad; and sure enough, in his hand lay your signet. He could speak nothing but Russian, but could say ‘mademoiselle’ and ‘monsieur le vicomte;’ and that, with your signet, made me think that he had been about your person, for these Russian youths know nothing but their own tongue. He told a straight story; he said that he brought a verbal message, because you were afraid to write anything, thinking he might be captured. He represented that you had just discovered that the Von Gadens were treacherous, and dared not leave us in that house an hour longer. You had been summoned by the Czarevna Sophia, he said, and could not come, but had sent him to conduct us to your lodgings, there to wait until you could take us to the Kremlin, the czarevna having expressed her willingness to protect us. Zénaïde drew me aside, and we discussed the situation; we both thought the message genuine. I recognized the signet, and his perfect acquaintance with your affairs disarmed our natural suspicions. Zénaïde questioned him about his discovery of the secret stair, but he said that you knew of it; and knowing that you had been intimate with the Von Gadens, we concluded that the message was true. Our decision was hastened by the messenger; he informed us that Von Gaden had left the house, and it was thought that he was communicating with Viatscheslav Naryshkin; therefore we had not a moment to lose. ‘Alas!’ cried mademoiselle, interrupting herself and wringing her hands, ‘if we had only delayed!’” And the good woman stopped to wipe away her tears. “Continue, mademoiselle,” I said, with some impatience; “regret is of no avail now; we must only try to mend the evil.” “The rest is soon told,” she said sorrowfully. “Zénaïde’s impetuosity and my folly carried the day; I ought to have known that you would come yourself. We gathered up our wraps, and veiling ourselves, followed our young guide down a narrow flight of stairs which led into a kind of cellar--” “I know, mademoiselle,” I interrupted. “I have examined them but a few hours since. You went out by the trap-door?” “Alas!” she exclaimed, “I never knew how we were taken out. You know how dark it is there? The boy had guided us with a light, but when we reached the cellar, he suddenly extinguished it, and I heard Zénaïde spring back towards the stairs; she had evidently divined our peril before I did. There was a struggle in the darkness, and I shrieked; the next instant I was seized and gagged, and then came the hardest blow; I did not know what they did to my poor girl. I was dragged off to the Ramodanofsky carriage, which stood in the lane, and that fiend Polotsky brought me here and locked me up. And I have been in agony of mind about Zénaïde, and expecting to be killed every moment. What shall we do now, Monsieur Philippe?”