Each went deftly and swiftly about what he had to do, and neither seemed to be in the least thrown off his balance. There was much less fuss than there is in some families every morning when the 'City man' is hurrying to catch his train. Drawer after drawer was emptied out on the wide hearthstones, and as stern denunciations of tyranny and eloquent appeals to the spirit of freedom vanished in smoke and sparks up the great chimney, Percival, a little puffed by his exertions, asked, 'How soon _must_ we go? What's the exact state of things?' 'Our friends at Odessa were warned. There's an order for my arrest. I was to have been taken at Odessa, and long before this they'll have found out that I'm not there, and will have started after me here.' 'But how are we to go? Are we to walk, and fall into a succession of pools? Can't we get some horses from the stable?' 'I have a sleigh not a quarter of a mile off. Zabrousky is with it, waiting. We can reach Kilsen to-night, and get horses for the frontier. There is a revolver in the desk. The one in my belt is full of water. I've got two passports that will carry us over. You are Monsieur Mericourt of Paris, and I am Herr Baum of Düsseldorf, friends travelling.' It was lucky that this room, the ordinary work-room of the friends, contained all their secrets and most of their 'portable property.' 'How about money?' asked the secretary. 'There are three hundred Napoleons in the cash-box. Those will be best to take. By-the-way, stick a French novel into your portmanteau, and throw in anything you can to fill it up. We have the frontier to pass. You know I am all right at Paris or Vienna.' 'Oh, yes,' rejoined Percival. 'If we get there we're all right. But these clothes of yours; we must hide them, or they'll tell tales.' 'Oh, bring them with you, and leave the room in order.' 'Yes, and I must take a revolver myself. We'll give a good account of a few of those brutes if they come too close.' 'Are we ready? I'll take the portmanteau, you carry those clothes. Now then, lights out. Give me your hand.' The candles were blown out, and Litvinoff led the way through the bedroom and through a tiny door in the panelled wall, of whose existence Percival had been up to this moment ignorant. They passed down a narrow staircase, in a niche of whose wall they left the wet garments, and, passing through a stone passage or two, suddenly came out into the ice-cold air at an angle of the house quite other than that at which Percival had expected to find himself. Litvinoff shivered. 'I miss my cloak,' he said. 'However, there are plenty of skins in the sleigh.' The snow fell lightly on them as they hurried quietly away; it did its best with its cold feathery veil to hide the footsteps of the fugitives. 'Is this exciting enough for you?' asked the Count as they strode along under cover of the trees.