“I know it!” confessed his master, and wiped his forehead with a shaking hand. “Yet I would have risked it gladly had I only killed that scoundrel. I must kill him--I must kill him. I could not rest in my grave with him alive!” “Who is it?” asked madame. “Who is it that you wish to kill?” “The scoundrel who set these peasants on.” “Who seeks your life?” “Oh, more than my life, madame!” he answered hoarsely. “More than my life! I could forgive him that!” For a moment she stared at him, not understanding. Then her face went white with horror and she put out a hand for support. “It cannot come to that!” she murmured. “At least we will not let it come to that!” “No,” he said, and drew her to him. “Do not fear, my love. It shall never come to that!” The firing had slackened and at last we ventured to look down again. The mob had drawn away from the tower and had gathered into little groups, staring up at it. “It is to be a siege,” said M. le Comte, laughing grimly. “If we were only provisioned we might hold out indefinitely--and these rogues have little patience.” But Pasdeloup shook his head. “You do not know them, monsieur,” he said. “They have patience enough. But it is not a siege they are planning--it is an assault--I am sure of it.” “Well, let them plan,” retorted his master. “Let them assault. Much good will it do them!” “No doubt,” said Pasdeloup quietly, “the governor of the Bastille uttered the same words when he looked down at the unarmed mob of Paris from the battlement of his prison.” “You are right, my friend,” agreed M. le Comte gently. “He did not understand the power of the people. But I, who have been in La Vendée, should know better. You think we are in danger, then?” “Beyond question,” answered Pasdeloup. “And I am glad that it is so--that there will be no siege. Since there is no succor for us anywhere, we must in the end either starve or surrender. For myself I prefer a short, sharp fight, with death at the end of it.” “And I,” I said. “For myself I can say the same,” agreed M. le Comte. “But for the women!” and he glanced toward where they stood, sheltered by the parapet. “For the women,” said Pasdeloup grimly, “the last bullets must be saved.” “There is nothing, then, but to remain here and be murdered?” demanded his master. “You believe that, Pasdeloup?” “Not in the least, monsieur,” answered the other cheerfully. “We shall first make every effort to escape.” “But how?” “I must consider it,” said Pasdeloup, with a self-assurance which at another time would have been amusing. “There is no time to be lost;” and he disappeared down the stair leading to the floor below. My companion looked after him musingly.