ple dead,
yonder, to avenge."

The brigands had left the swords and pistols of the officers on chairs,
tables and the floor. There were eight pistols. Marteau gathered them
up. The English baronet yielded one other, a huge, heavy,
old-fashioned weapon.

"There are loopholes in the shutters yonder," said the officer. "Do
you take that one, I will take the other. They will get away from the
door in a moment and as soon as you can see them fire."

"Mademoiselle," said the Russian officer desperately, "I shall have to
report to the commander of the guard and he to the Czar that you gave
aid and comfort to our enemies."

"But what can I do?" asked the young woman. "Monsieur Marteau could
certainly shoot me if I attempted----"

"Assuredly," said Marteau, smiling at her in a way anything but fierce.

It was that implicit trust in her that restrained her and saved him.
As a girl the young countess had been intensely fond of Jean Marteau.
He certainly appeared well in his present role before her. In the
revulsion of feeling in finding him not a bully, not a traitor, but a
devoted friend and servitor, he advanced higher in her estimation than
ever before. Besides, the young woman was by no means so thoroughgoing
a loyalist as her old uncle, for instance.

"I can see them now, monsieur," said the young peasant from the
peep-hole in the shutter.

Indeed, the men outside had broken away from the door, groups were
running to and fro seeking lights and some other entrance. Taking aim
at the nearest Marteau pulled the trigger and Pierre followed his
example. The noise of the explosions was succeeded by a scream of
anguish, one man was severely wounded and another killed. Something
mysterious had happened while they had been off on the wild goose chase
apparently, the Russians decided. The chateau had been seized, their
officers had been made way with, it was held by the enemy.

"They can't be anything more than wandering peasants," cried an
imperious voice in Russian outside. "I thought you had made thorough
work with them all, Scoref," continued the speaker. "Your Cossacks
must have failed to complete the job."

"It will be the first time," answered Scoref, the _hetman_ of the
raiders. "Look, the village burns!"

"Well, what's to be done now?" said the first voice.

"I don't know, Baron," was the answer. "Besieging castles is more in
your line than in mine."

"Shall we fire again, monsieur?" asked Pier