“Is the Princess Christina gone?”
“Yes, some minutes since;” and at the words a light of Satanic triumph shone in my companion’s eyes, and seemed to give her fresh strength for the struggle. Every moment was precious.
“Get help and burst this door in,” I shouted; but even as I shouted the words the thought of the minutes that would be thus wasted maddened me, and I resolved to take the key from the Countess’s pocket.
“You force me to this,” I said between my teeth, and, seizing her round the waist with one arm, I held her in a grip of iron while I plunged my hand into her pocket. To use up the last possible moment she struggled with frantic energy, writhing and twisting and hindering me till I vow I could have killed her. My blood was up, and the thought of Christina’s danger urged me to spare no violence, and half a minute later I had secured the key, and hurled the woman away from me.
As I opened the door, Zoiloff and a couple of men with axes had come up.
“Good God! what has happened?” cried Zoiloff, falling back before my looks.
“Keep that hell-cat safe till I return,” I shouted, and, hatless and dishevelled as I was after the tussle for the key, I dashed out of the house, and ran at my top speed through the street.
By good fortune I met one of my grooms exercising a horse close by the house; and before the man could recover from his surprise I had half pulled him from the saddle, clambered up in his place, and was clattering at full gallop towards the Princess’s house, heedless of all or any that came in my path.
The moment I reached it I jumped off, sprang up the steps, pealed the great bell and thundered at the heavy knocker, never ceasing till the porter opened the door with a half-scared face.
“The Princess! Quick, man, quick, for your life!” I cried like a madman. “Where is she?”