"Boyar, wait for me in the glade at Vulturesht." The gates were opened, the horse snorted and rushed forth like a dragon. The full moon shone through the veil of an autumnal mist, weaving webs of light, lighting up the silent hills and the dark woods. The rapid flight of the bay broke the deep silence. Racoare rode silently under the overhanging woods with their sparse foliage; he seemed like a phantom in the blue light. Then he reached Frasini. Every one was asleep, the doors were shut. Cozma knocked at the door: Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat! "Who is there?" cried a voice from within. "Open!" said Racoare. "Who are you?" "Open!" shouted Cozma. From within was heard a whispered: "Open!" "Do not open!" "Open, it is Cozma!" A light shone through a niche in the wall above the door, and lighted up Cozma's face. Then a rustling sound became audible, the light was extinguished, and the bar across the door rattled. Cozma entered the empty courtyard, dismounted by the steps, and pushed open the door. "The door is open," he murmured, "the lady is not nervous." In the dark corridor his footsteps and his spurs echoed as in a church. A noise was heard in one of the rooms, and a bright light shone into the passage. The Sultana appeared in the doorway, dressed in white with her hair unplaited, with frowning brows and the scimitar in her right hand. "Who are you? What do you want?" she cried. "I have come to fetch you," said Racoare shortly, "and take you to Boyar Nicola." "Ah, you are not burglars?" said the lady, and raised her scimitar. "See here, you will meet the same fate as your Nicola!" Racoare took a step forward, calmly seized the scimitar, squeezed the lady's fist, and the steel blade flew into a corner. The lady sprang quickly back, calling: "Gavril! Niculai! Toader! Help!" Voices were heard, and the servants crowded into the passage, and stood by the door. Racoare approached the lady, and tried to seize her. She avoided him, and caught up a knife from the table. "What are you doing, you boobies? Help! Seize him, bind him!" "Don't talk nonsense--I see you are not frightened; I cannot do other than I am doing!" said Racoare. Then the servants murmured again: "How can we bind him? It is Racoare. He is here! Cozma Racoare, lady!" "Cowards!" cried the lady, and threw herself upon Cozma. The highwayman took her arm, pressed her hands together, tied them with a leather strap, and lifted her under his arm like a bundle. "Get out of the way!" he said then, and the people fell over each other as they scattered to either side. "What a pearl among women!" thought Cozma, while he strode along the corridor with the lady under his arm, "he has not bad taste, that Boyar Nicola! Proud woman!"