Louise, in the midst of this tumult, of these savage shouts, thought of nothing but shielding Catherine; and the old farm-mistress--judge of her terror!--had just recognised Yégof, on a tall, bony horse--Yégof, his tin crown on his head, his matted beard, his lance in hand, and his long sheepskin floating from his shoulders. She saw him there as plainly as if it had been broad daylight; yes, it was he whose sinister face she beheld ten paces off, with its flaming eyes, darting forth his long blue lance and striving to reach her. What should she do? Submit, yield to her fate? Thus it is that the firmest natures feel themselves forced to bow before an inflexible destiny. The old woman believed herself doomed beforehand; she believed herself foredoomed, and gazed on all those ferocious men, yelling and leaping like so many hungry wolves, aiming and receiving blows in the soft clear moonlight. She saw some struck down, and their horses, the bridle hanging over their neck, escaping into the meadow. She saw the uppermost windows in the keeper's house open on the left, and old Cuny, in his shirt-sleeves, level his gun, without daring to fire into the _mêlée_. She saw all these with singular clearness, and kept saying to herself: "The fool has returned: whatever happens, he will hang my head to his saddle. It must end as it did in my dream!" And, in truth, everything seemed to justify her fears. The mountaineers, too inferior in number, were giving way. There was a regular hand-to-hand encounter. The Cossacks, leaping up the ascent, fought in the path; one sword-thrust, better directed than the others, reached the back of the old woman's head; she felt the touch of the cold steel just in the nape of her neck. "Oh! the wretches!" she shrieked, falling back, and supporting herself with her two hands at her back. Doctor Lorquin himself had just been knocked against the sleigh. Frantz and the rest, surrounded by twenty Cossacks, could not run to their assistance. Louise felt a hand laid upon her shoulder; it was the hand of the fool, still bestriding his tall horse. At this supreme moment, the poor child, mad with fear, uttered a cry of agony; at the same moment she caught sight of something shining in the dark, the pistols of Lorquin, and, quick as lightning, snatching them from the doctor's belt, she fired both shots at once, scorching the beard of Yégof, whose pale face was lit up by the flash, and shattering the skull of a Cossack who was leaning towards her, his white eyes distended with desire. In another instant, she seized Catherine's whip, and, standing up, pale as a corpse, she lashed the flanks of the horse, who set off at full gallop. The sleigh flew wildly along; it swayed to the right and left. All of a sudden, there was a violent shock; Catherine, Louise, and all rolled in the snow down the steep descent of the ravine. The horse suddenly stopped short, thrown back upon his haunches, his mouth covered with bloody foam.