Then the bonds of bewilderment were struck away, for the mob with a wild yell charged toward the tower as one man. “A mine!” cried M. le Comte. “A mine!” And putting his wife gently from him, he hurled himself toward the stair. Blindly I bent and kissed the red lips still raised to mine, put away the clinging hands--with what aching of the heart may be imagined--and followed M. le Comte without daring to look back. Down we flew, half smothered by the fumes of sulphur and clouds of dust--down into that black pit which yawned to swallow us--one flight, two--then M. le Comte held me back. “Wait,” he said--“wait;” and he descended cautiously some few steps. He was back beside me in a moment. “They have made a breach,” he said. “I could see the glint of their torches through it. But they must clear away the debris before they can enter. We have perhaps five minutes.” “We can hold the stair.” I said. “It is steep and narrow. Two swords can keep an army back.” “But once they gain entrance below us they can burn us out. No, we must escape, Tavernay--or make a dash for it. Better death by the sword than by fire.” “And the women?” “For them,” he said with set teeth, “the same death as for us--it is the only way. For me, my wife; for you, Charlotte. Are you brave enough to thrust your sword into her heart, my friend?” A cold sweat broke out upon me, head to foot. “God in heaven, no!” I cried, hoarsely. “Not that--anything but that!” “As for me,” said my companion, with a terrible calmness, “I prefer to kill my wife rather than abandon her to the mercies of Goujon. Come, Tavernay, be a man! You love her and yet you hesitate!” “Love her! Oh, God!” I groaned. “Come! We have but a moment. They are almost through!” and indeed I could hear the frantic blows with which the debris was being swept aside, could see the reflection of the torches’ glare. By a supreme effort I controlled the trembling which shook me. “Very well, monsieur,” I said, as calmly as I could, “I am ready. What is it you propose?” By the dim glare of the torches I could see his white face poised like a phantom’s in the air before me. “Spoken like a man!” he said, and gripped my hand. “What I propose is this--we will hold this stair until they find they cannot carry it by assault; then, as they prepare their fire, we will ascend to the platform, bid the women good-by--God of Heaven!--what is that?” I, too, heard the blood-curdling sound which came suddenly from one corner of the room. It was a sort of snarling whine, which rose and fell and rose again, mixed with a hideous panting which never stopped. There was something bestial about it--something appalling, inhuman--yet what beast could produce a sound like that?