Maryska heard the priest's cries, but she did not see the manner of his death. Had it not happened so swiftly and with such dramatic finality, the men would have made some stir to save him; but, as though guessing their intention, a group of soldiers with rifles across their arms pressed about the window, and made it very clear that they would shoot upon next to no provocation at all. Alussein Pasha had ridden on at this time to the lower road overlooking Scutari, and would return when the good work was done. He would declare that the villagers had brought it all on themselves, and his report would be a model of tearful orthodoxy. Meanwhile, there were very few of the male inhabitants to bring anything upon anybody; the women alone remained, and they were dragged from their houses, some by the hair of their heads, some forced by thrust of swords, a few going without protest, as though they dreamed. Of the latter were the younger girls, mere children of fourteen or fifteen years, who stood in a little group before the priest's house, and looked at the soldiers, uncertain--nay, ignorant--of their meaning. Maryska saw these anon; and Louis also. He had been chewing his cigarette very busily since the priest died, and there were few lines upon the paper. As for Faber, he merely stood motionless by the window. The scene held him spellbound with an influence he knew to be evil. "What have they done with the priest? Why do you not answer me, Mr. Faber?" She touched him upon the arm, and he looked down upon a child's face from which a woman's eyes stared up at him wonderingly. What answer could he make to her? "You must just run away and think nothing about it, Maryska," he said quietly. "We can none of us do anything. I wish to God we could." "Are you not going to speak for the children, then?" "The children! Oh, they're all right; they won't hurt the children." "That is not true," she said, for the instinct of the woman guided her surely. "Someone must speak for the children. Will not you, father?" The appeal touched Paleologue, and he threw away the stump of his cigarette and leaned out of the window. They heard him talking rapidly with the Turks upon the side-walk, and presently shouting something to an officer before the guest-house opposite. Whatever he said moved the soldiers to derision and the children themselves to hope. They knew that he was their friend, and their round eyes watched his every gesture. "What's the man saying?" Faber asked. Louis hardly seemed to know. "I guess it's a bad business, boss, a d----d bad business." "You don't mean to say----" "I do every word of it." "We must see this thing through, Paleologue. I'm going out." "You can't go out. What's the good of doing stunts? They'll shoot, sure."