the light and staring.

"A Frenchman, sir. They knocked me on the head and left me for dead,
but if monsieur would assist me I----"

Marteau stepped over to him, bent down and lifted him up. He was a
stout, hardy looking peasant boy, pale cheeked, with blood clotted
around his forehead from a blow that he had received. Feverish fire
sparkled in his eyes.

"If monsieur wishes help to put these brutes out of the way command
me," he said passionately.

"We will do nothing with them at present," answered Marteau.

"Quick, Laure, the knife," whispered the Englishman.

The Frenchman heard him, however, and wheeled around.

"Mademoiselle," he cried, "on your honor I charge you not to abuse the
liberty I have secured for you and that I allow you."

"But, my friends----"

"If you had depended on your friends you would even now be----" he
paused--"as my sister," he added with terrific intensity.

"Your pleasure shall be mine," said the young woman.

"If I could have a drink of wine!" said the young peasant, sinking down
into a chair.

"There is a flask which they did not get in the pocket of one of the
officers yonder," said the young Frenchwoman, looking sympathetically
at the poor exhausted lad.

Marteau quickly recovered it, in spite of the protestations of the
officer, who looked his indignation at this little betrayal by the
woman. He gave some of it to the peasant and then offered it to
mademoiselle and, upon her declining it, took a long drink himself. He
was weak and trembling with all he had gone through.

"Now, what's to be our further course?" asked the countess.

"I don't know yet. I----"

But the answer was never finished. Shots, cries, the sound of
galloping horses came faintly through the open door.

"My men returning!" cried the Russian officer triumphantly. "Our turn
will come now, sir."

Two courses were open. To run or to fight. Duty said go; love said
stay. Duty was stronger. After a moment's hesitation Marteau dashed
for the door. He was too late. The returning Russian cavalry was
already entering the courtyard. Fate had decided against him. He
could not go now. He thought with the swiftness of a veteran. He
sprang back into the hall, threw the great iron-bound door into its
place, turned the massive key in its lock, thanking God that key and
lock were still intact, dropped the heavy bars at top and bottom that
further secured it, just as the first horseman thundered