CHAPTER XXVI.LOVE AND FIRE.
Thepostern was also fastened, and Zénaïde knocked repeatedly without effect.
“The house is deserted,” she said, turning a frightened look upon me; “where can mademoiselle be? What has happened?”
I was puzzled myself, and at loss to answer her.
“There must be some way to get in,” I said, examining the windows.
One to the right of the door was not securely shuttered, and I got it open with but little difficulty, and climbed in. I found the postern securely barred, and opening it, admitted Zénaïde. Together we went up the stairs to mademoiselle’s room, only to find it vacant. The whole house seemed as silent as the grave. Hurriedly we searched the place, opening door after door, only to discover silence and solitude. Not a sound greeted our ears, not a sign remained of habitation other than the furniture,already lightly coated with the dust which had been gathering since the night of Zénaïde’s flight. Going into the main building, our search was equally fruitless; descending to the kitchen and even the cellar, we found no trace of either mademoiselle or the boyar. Yet there was no indication of violence, the house had not been attacked; it was as quiet and undisturbed as it was desolate. We had scarcely spoken to each other; but now, as we returned a second time to mademoiselle’s room, Zénaïde broke the silence.
“I cannot understand it,” she said thoughtfully; “there was no safer place for mademoiselle, and it could not be that she went out on such a day, for they must have known of the riot here before the mob reached the Kremlin.”
“She must be safe,” I replied reassuringly; “this house has not been disturbed, and she must have left it voluntarily.”
“I do not think she can have gone to seek me; mademoiselle is far too timid,” she said musingly. “I have brought you on a fool’s errand, M. le Vicomte; but, at least, we are out of danger.”
“Mademoiselle, you are unkind,” I retorted quickly, thinking of her rebuke to my caution in the Kremlin.
She started, and the blood rushed over her fair face.
“I beg a thousand pardons, M. le Vicomte,” she faltered. “I never intended an attack upon your courage; I owe it far too much. I can never thank you enough for my deliverance.”
“It came from higher hands than mine, mademoiselle,” I replied gravely, watching the color flushing her downcast face. “Vengeance was taken out of the reach of my sword, and now you will be safe in a father’s care.”
I added this to note the effect, and saw anxiety cloud her expression. This unknown father was another source of perplexity. We were both absorbed in our own thoughts and emotions, and had not heeded the sounds which must have been approaching, for we were now startled by the roar of a mob. I sprang to the window and looked out, at first seeing nothing; but the noise was only too near, the rabble was evidently in the street in front and in the lane behind the house, for, on every side, rose the shouts and screams of the angry populace.
“What can have brought them this way?” Zénaïde cried, coming to the window; but I pulled her back out of sight, for I had seen the foremost of the rioters crowding into the court. Without a word, I ran down and saw that thepostern and lower windows were secure, and then returned. Zénaïde was standing out of sight, but where she could look from the window upon the court, which was filling fast.
“What can they want?” she whispered, as if afraid that they would hear her voice.
I thought I knew, remembering that Vladimir’s death was not known, nor Feodor’s identity. I knew that the dead boyar had been bitterly hated by the lower classes, that he had been intimate with one or more of the colonels of the Streltsi who had been scourged. He had been identified with the Naryshkins, and this, with the fact that he was a perfect type of the arrogant boyar, was enough to excite the fury of the mob, whose taste for blood had only been excited, and not slaked, by the carnival of murder at the Kremlin. What evil fate had induced me to linger a moment in this house? I saw my folly too late, and looked at Zénaïde with the keenest apprehension and self-reproach. How could I save her? I was reflecting upon some means of rescuing her. They had already begun to clamor for admittance, and no door could resist them long. I must find some way to delay their entrance, to give the Boyar Ramodanofsky time to come to our relief, for I felt surethat he had some influence with the rioters. The house was completely surrounded, and I could think of no way of getting Zénaïde out with any chance of escape. Meanwhile, I heard the resounding blows upon the main entrance replied to with similar ones on the postern and the kitchen door. No time could be lost.
“Stay here, mademoiselle,” I said; “I must speak to those in front, and so draw off thecanaillefrom the other entrances.”
“You are mad, M. le Vicomte,” she exclaimed; “your presence will merely excite the mob. If we must die, let it be by our own hands; I cannot fall into theirs alive.”
She stood in the center of the room, her face white and composed, and her blue eyes gleaming with the fire of her race. I saw that, in the extremity, she would meet death with the resolution of a soldier’s daughter. I had never loved her more than at that moment, when I saw her stand there, facing death, and a peril worse than death, with the unfaltering courage of a noble soul. I took her hand in mine and kissed it.
“Mademoiselle,” I said in a low voice, “I swear to you that you shall not fall into their hands alive.”
She did not withdraw her hand, and her blue eyes looked steadily into mine.
“I thank you from my heart,” she said firmly; “I can die cheerfully, as becomes a Ramodanofsky.”
Below, the blows upon the door seemed to shake the house itself. I left her and went to the window over the door; opening the shutters, I leaped upon the sill. In a moment some one saw me, and there was a yell, followed by a hoarse roar from the mob gathering, as I had anticipated, beneath the window to watch me. It was a large party of rioters; the courtyard was crowded, and they overflowed into the street. The foremost of the party had just secured a heavy beam, and were preparing to use it as a battering-ram against the door beneath; but at the sight of me overhead, they paused to stare and listen. There were some of the Streltsi as ringleaders, but a large portion was the off-scouring of the city, ripe for mischief and rapine; armed with spears and hatchets and clubs, their faces perfect types of low ferocity; arrested in their attack only for the moment, and furious at the delay. It was a sight to freeze a man’s blood to face it alone, and with the thought of the young girl behind me, it drove me mad. A lamb at the mercy ofhyenas! Before I could speak, they began to shout to me to come down and unfasten the door.
“We have come to see the Boyar Vladimir Sergheievitch Ramodanofsky!” they cried mockingly; “and if we are not presently made welcome, he will find our greeting warm.”
I made a gesture to them to listen, and there was a momentary pause, more dreadful perhaps than their cries, and I could see their savage faces and their bloody hands.
“The Boyar Vladimir Sergheievitch is dead,” I said, in a loud voice; “he died by his own hand yesterday, and there is no one here.”
A howl of baffled fury and derision greeted my announcement; I saw that they did not believe me.
“Open the door, good fellow!” shrieked a leader, derisively, “so that we can attend the funeral. The boyar loved the people; let the people have his body.”
“I swear to you that the boyar is dead,” I shouted, “and his body is not here. I know not where they have taken it.”
“We will find it! We will find it!” they howled, and I saw that I was no longer holding them, but that some were breaking away and running to either side of the house. Only thegroup in front remained, staring at me and mocking me with hideous grimaces, made more horrid by the smears of blood upon their grimy faces.
“Why do you listen to him?” shouted a voice on the outskirts. “This is the same fellow who took the woman out of Naryshkin’s carriage.”
“Ramodanofsky’s niece!” they screamed, with sudden inspiration; “she was betrothed to that devil Viatscheslav! The fellow has her here!”
That brought them howling under the window.
“Open the door!” they cried to me, “or we will tear you limb from limb when we get in! No more lies for us! We will have them all!”
I shouted to them that they were mistaken; but my voice was drowned in the tumult, and the stones began to rain like hail. I felt a pull at my cloak, and turning, saw Zénaïde. She had followed me, and heard it all.
“It is useless,” she said, in a quiet voice; “kill me now, M. le Vicomte.”
I looked below, and saw them placing the improvised battering-ram against the door, and then I jumped down beside her.
“Not yet, Zénaïde!” I cried, with a break inmy voice, for I could not bear to look upon her pale and lovely face. “There may yet be a chance. Take one of my pistols, and let us find a refuge if we can.”
I took her hand in mine and found that it did not even tremble, although as cold as death. Leading her, I found an upper room, and waited there to meet our fate. It was a moment of agony for both, and she clung to my arm like a child.
“M. le Vicomte,” she faltered suddenly, while we waited in that quiet spot, “I blame myself; I should not have led you here. It is awful to die such a death.”
I drew her closer to me and looked down upon her face so near my own.
“But we shall die together,” I said softly, and our eyes meeting, I read the truth in hers. “Zénaïde,” I whispered, “you know that I love you?”
“Yes,” she murmured faintly, “I know it, Philippe; and still—we must die.”
“Together, sweetheart,” I replied, kissing her; “united in life and death.”
And thus our troth was plighted. And then a new terror smote us; a tiny wreath of smoke came curling in at the open door.
“They have fired the house,” Zénaïde saidquietly, raising her head from my breast, and looking at me with horror growing in her eyes.
I went out at the door and looked down the hall. The odor of burning was unmistakable. I could hear the crashing of the outer door and the roar of the mob below. The fire was in the rear, and I knew that the stragglers whom I had seen leaving the crowd in front had fired the wings. I could hear the crackle of flames, even above the tumult, and the blue smoke was creeping up in thin spiral waves.