With a powerful swing he threw his rifle on his shoulder and turned away. Lambert intercepted him. "You must not go. I will forget that you raised your hand against me. Do you also forget that I raised mine against you. By the memory of our father; by the memory of our mother, I conjure you, do not leave your parents' house." "It is too small for us all," said Conrad, with bitter scorn. "Then _we_ will leave it. I will gladly do it if you will but stay." "I need no house," said Conrad. "The house, however, needs you, as you can help defend it against our bitter enemies. Do you wish to see it go up in flames? You know that the French are coming--perhaps you know more about it than I--than all of us; and we to-day greatly missed you. Will you become a traitor to our common interests--to your brother, your friends, to wives and children? Conrad, you must not go away!" "If the enemy comes you will again creep away as you did before," said Conrad. "I will not hide in forts. I will fight openly. I will take the matter in hand entirely alone, and you may here, in your holes, go to destruction or not; it will not trouble me. My blood be upon me if I again set either foot across this door-sill!" He pushed his fur cap down over his eyes, whistled to his dog, and as he, making his rounds about the house, did not come, he called out: "So you, too, stay here. Curse on you all!" That was the last word that Catherine heard. The dreadful, soul-stirring excitement of these hours had exhausted her strength, and her fall had broken her down entirely. She felt a stinging pain in her temples. There was a ringing in her ears. She saw Lambert's form, as through a veil, bending over her; and then it was not Lambert, but Aunt Ursul, and then everything sunk away about her in deep night. CHAPTER XI Aunt Ursul sat at Catherine's bed in the room carefully noticing every motion of the young girl who lay there, pale, with closed eyes, half asleep as it appeared. She repeatedly felt her pulse, and renewed the cold cloths on her forehead. She then again bent over her, listened to her quiet breathing, then bowed satisfied and murmured: "There's nothing more to be done here now. We will now look after the young man." She arose and retired, as quietly as her heavy boots would permit, from the chamber, her face expressing displeasure as the door creaked a little, though she shut it very softly. Lambert, who had been sitting at the hearth, raised his head and looked at her who was entering with anxious eye. Aunt Ursul sat down by his side, placed her feet firmly on the hearth, and said, in a tone intended to be a whisper, but on account of her deep, rough voice was a dull growl: