“We will find it! We will find it!” they howled, and I saw that I was no longer holding them, but that some were breaking away and running to either side of the house. Only the group in front remained, staring at me and mocking me with hideous grimaces, made more horrid by the smears of blood upon their grimy faces. “Why do you listen to him?” shouted a voice on the outskirts. “This is the same fellow who took the woman out of Naryshkin’s carriage.” “Ramodanofsky’s niece!” they screamed, with sudden inspiration; “she was betrothed to that devil Viatscheslav! The fellow has her here!” That brought them howling under the window. “Open the door!” they cried to me, “or we will tear you limb from limb when we get in! No more lies for us! We will have them all!” I shouted to them that they were mistaken; but my voice was drowned in the tumult, and the stones began to rain like hail. I felt a pull at my cloak, and turning, saw Zénaïde. She had followed me, and heard it all. “It is useless,” she said, in a quiet voice; “kill me now, M. le Vicomte.” I looked below, and saw them placing the improvised battering-ram against the door, and then I jumped down beside her. “Not yet, Zénaïde!” I cried, with a break in my voice, for I could not bear to look upon her pale and lovely face. “There may yet be a chance. Take one of my pistols, and let us find a refuge if we can.” I took her hand in mine and found that it did not even tremble, although as cold as death. Leading her, I found an upper room, and waited there to meet our fate. It was a moment of agony for both, and she clung to my arm like a child. “M. le Vicomte,” she faltered suddenly, while we waited in that quiet spot, “I blame myself; I should not have led you here. It is awful to die such a death.” I drew her closer to me and looked down upon her face so near my own. “But we shall die together,” I said softly, and our eyes meeting, I read the truth in hers. “Zénaïde,” I whispered, “you know that I love you?” “Yes,” she murmured faintly, “I know it, Philippe; and still--we must die.” “Together, sweetheart,” I replied, kissing her; “united in life and death.” And thus our troth was plighted. And then a new terror smote us; a tiny wreath of smoke came curling in at the open door. “They have fired the house,” Zénaïde said quietly, raising her head from my breast, and looking at me with horror growing in her eyes. I went out at the door and looked down the hall. The odor of burning was unmistakable. I could hear the crashing of the outer door and the roar of the mob below. The fire was in the rear, and I knew that the stragglers whom I had seen leaving the crowd in front had fired the wings. I could hear the crackle of flames, even above the tumult, and the blue smoke was creeping up in thin spiral waves. CHAPTER XXVII. MICHAEL’S REVENGE.