“I never put the clothes on the boyar,” he exclaimed. “I did strip the corpse in the prison and helped Polotsky to throw it in the Yauza, but they dressed Feodor Sergheievitch in the clothes and put him in the cell themselves; he was about the size of the dead felon, and it didn’t cost much to make the guards think he was the same. I did nothing then.” “You have admitted a good deal,” said Von Gaden, with a laugh; “the boyar may have another opinion about your innocence.” Homyak collapsed in his chair, suddenly awakened to the trap into which the Jew had skillfully led him. I was beside myself with impatience. “Come, Homyak,” I said impatiently, “where is Mademoiselle Zénaïde?” “I do not know,” he reiterated sullenly. I looked at the clock and ran my finger down the barrel of my pistol. “The Boyar Ramodanofsky will be here in a quarter of an hour,” I said quietly, “and you can take your choice between answering him and leading me to the place.” It seemed to me that the dwarf’s pale face turned green as he stared at us. It was the last straw, and he surrendered quickly enough. “Zénaïde Feodorovna is safe,” he protested; “she is in a house across the Moskva, in the Biélui-gorod. I will take you there instantly, M. le Vicomte; I will do anything if you will but save me from that man’s hands.” “Prepare yourself, then,” I said at once; “we will go without delay to the house, and woe to you if you have deceived me--in the smallest particular--for your life shall answer for Mademoiselle’s safety.” Von Gaden had been called out of the room while I spoke, and returned now with a grave face. I was making ready for instant departure. “You will have to go out by the secret stair, M. le Vicomte,” he said to me in French; “the Streltsi have risen, and there is a mob in the street. I hear them calling for me.” While he was speaking, I heard a loud noise at the street door; in our excitement we had not noticed the sounds without, which might have warned us. We stood listening now, taken by surprise, and could hear the shouting of a mob and the crash of stones against the door. “Where is your wife?” I asked at once. “Fortunately not here to-night, but with a friend,” he replied quietly. Looking suddenly at Homyak, I saw a gleam of demoniac triumph on his white face; it roused me to immediate action. “We have not a moment to lose,” I said to Von Gaden; “we must get out by the secret staircase, and take this knave with us, or all will be lost.” The servants were crowding into the room, shaking with fear, to tell us that a mob was beating in the door. “They will not harm you, you fools!” Von Gaden said. “They want me; they think me a poisoner, a magician, a devil.” He spoke with a passionate scorn, realizing how bitter was the requital for all his skill and devotion. “You can save yourselves easily,” he added, looking at the trembling menials, “by throwing open the door and delivering me into their hands.”