I was heartily of her opinion, but had the encouragement of feeling that we had so far evaded pursuit. Zénaïde said nothing; I could discern the outline of her figure opposite me, and she seemed to have sunk back into her corner with an entire surrender of purpose, letting events shape themselves. We were driving fast, and the distance was not great. “I wish you had killed him!” mademoiselle remarked, becoming suddenly bloodthirsty, which was amusing; for immediately a vision of her mild, frightened face arose. “I would have killed him cheerfully,” I replied, “if I had not feared that he would raise an outcry, and so make your escape impossible.” “He would have done so; he is a great coward,” said Zénaïde, quietly. “Besides,” she added to mademoiselle, “you would not have M. le Vicomte’s sword stained with the blood of such a toad.” “Dead men tell no tales,” mademoiselle muttered to herself, “and I have always dreaded that man; he has an eye like a cat’s.” “He is undoubtedly an accomplished villain, for my uncle reposes great confidence in him,” remarked Zénaïde, with a bitter little laugh. “It is not worth while considering it now,” I said, to reassure them; “we undoubtedly evaded his vigilance by locking the door upon him. I do not believe that he reached the other part of the house before we were safely out of the court, and he is not likely to fathom our designs.” “One cannot tell,” murmured mademoiselle. “I sometimes think that he and Ramodanofsky--I beg your pardon, Zénaïde--are allied with Satan, it seems so difficult to defeat them.” A hundred yards from Von Gaden’s house the carriage stopped, and Pierrot came to the door. “What is the matter?” I asked sharply. “A carriage is easily tracked, M. le Vicomte,” he said hesitatingly, “and I thought perhaps, as a precaution, you had better go the rest of the way on foot.” He spoke in French, evidently supposing that both women were Russians and would not understand him, for I saw his start of surprise when Mademoiselle Eudoxie exclaimed, in her native tongue,-- “He is right, Monsieur Philippe; we had better get out here, for if Polotsky try to track us, he will follow the carriage.” I saw the wisdom of the suggestion, and getting out, helped them to alight. Pierrot directed the coachman to return by a circuitous route to my quarters, while we four proceeded on foot to Von Gaden’s house. I was half inclined to doubt the necessity for the precaution when I looked back and saw only deserted streets. I walked in front with Zénaïde, and Pierrot escorted mademoiselle, who, recognizing him as a fellow-countryman, chatted to him as they went; anything French was welcome to her. For a little way Zénaïde and I were silent, but as the doctor’s house was near at hand, she spoke.