l imminence of their peril they
seized their swords and presented a bold front to the two-sided enemy.
There was one pistol left charged. Marteau handed that to the girl.

"The last shot, mademoiselle," he said meaningly, "for yourself if----"

"I understand."

"If you could only get to the door," growled the Russian commander, "my
men outside would make short work of----"

"It is impossible until we have dealt with these villains," said
Marteau. "On guard!" he cried as the marauders suddenly leaped forward.

The big Englishman, burly, tremendously powerful for all his advancing
years, dropped his sword for a moment, picked up one of the heavy oak
chairs and hurled it full into the face of the larger body at the
further end of the room. One stumbled over it, two others fell. The
next moment both parties were upon the little group. In their haste,
in their drunken excitement, the marauders had not thought to recharge
their pistols. With swords, scythes and clubs they fell on the six
men. Their numbers worked to their disadvantage. Three of the men
surrounding the woman, the Frenchman and the two Russian guardsmen,
were accomplished swordsmen. The Cossacks were not to be disdained in
rough-and-tumble fighting and the Englishman was a valiant ally. Their
racial antagonisms were forgot in their common danger and the deadly
peril of the woman.

The swords of the soldiers flashed as they thrust and parried. The
Cossacks, less skillful, strove to beat down the attackers by sweeping
slashes--not the best method for such close fighting. One Cossack was
pierced through the breast by a thrust from a renegade and another was
cut from his neck almost to his heart by a blow from a scythe. One of
the Russian officers was wounded, fell to his knees and was dispatched.
The Englishman was hit by a billet of wood and dazed. Marteau and the
other Russian were still unharmed. But it was going hard with them.
In fact, a fierce blow on his blade from a bludgeon shivered the weapon
of the Frenchman. A sword was aimed at his heart. There was a
blinding flash, a detonation, and the man who held it staggered back.
The Countess, the last pistol almost touching the man's body, had
pulled the trigger. Marteau seized the sword of the man who had
menaced him. The next instant the chateau was shaken by a terrific
roar. The Russians outside having constructed a rude bomb had blown up
the door.

For a second the combat ceased.