“Yet, be of good cheer, madame,” I said soothingly. “Your husband has evaded them so long, let us hope that he may still succeed. The hottest pursuit grows tardy after a while, and their patience will be soon exhausted.” She was eager enough to snatch at a straw of comfort, and quieted down under my soothing remonstrance. Presently she went up with me, and I sent mademoiselle and Zénaïde to comfort her. In a great degree I shared her anxiety, for the mob had made a point from the first to demand the death of Von Gaden. It seemed improbable that the Jew could successfully elude them, when not even the Czarina Natalia could protect her own brothers. I went down again to find Pierrot, hoping to hear some reassuring tidings; but before I called him, I heard a light step on the stair, and Zénaïde was looking down upon me, her lovely face full of anxiety. “What is it?” I exclaimed softly, reaching up until I touched her hand upon the balustrade. “Has my father come yet, Philippe?” she asked. “I feel sure that he will have tidings for this poor woman. I cannot bear to see her so broken down.” “Alas, Zénaïde!” I replied gravely, “any news may be evil for her. They have never ceased to search for poor Von Gaden, and I have really little hope of his escape. It seems a miracle that he has avoided them so long.” “The wretches!” she exclaimed, the color mounting in her cheeks. “If I were czarina of all the Russias--” she paused, seeing a smile in my eyes. “My love,” I said smiling, “what would become of me? I felt abashed when I told the Boyar Ramodanofsky that I loved his daughter, and he has not replied to me yet. How could I sue for the white hand of an empress?” She looked at me with her head a little on one side. “If I were an empress, M. le Vicomte”--she began, but the opening of the outer door arrested the laughing words upon her lips, and we both turned startled glances at the stern countenance of the boyar. His keen eyes searched us for a moment, but he closed the door and advanced with a sober face. “You have evil tidings, father,” Zénaïde exclaimed, her quick eye reading his clouded brow. “Not for you, my child,” he replied quietly; “but a sad thing has happened. We have lost a friend,” he added, turning to me. “Von Gaden?” I exclaimed at once. The boyar bowed his head in assent. “Alas!” exclaimed Zénaïde, “is he slain?”