‘Well, I will fight to the death first,’ I said.
Meanwhile the great door had been opened and I heard a parleying. There were men’s voices and the voices of the Superior and the old woman who kept the door. The voices grew louder, and there was one which seemed familiar, though I did not as yet recognise it. This voice grew more threatening, appearing to insist upon some point which the Superior contested.
Suddenly I recognised that louder voice: it was that of the young fellow Rachmanof, with whom I had had a set-to on behalf of his sister, whom he attempted to carry off from this very sanctuary. The discovery filled me with joy.
‘Be of good cheer, Vera,’ I whispered; ‘they come not for thee, but for the sister of this young Rachmanof. We were frightened too soon, wench; they are not thinking of thee; thou art safe!’
‘Oh, thanks to Him from whom are all mercies!’ she began; but at this moment there came loud cries for help from the Mother Superior and the other woman, and I could do nothing less than rush out to their succour.
On the single flight of steps that led to our ante-room, as well as to the door which communicated with the main building, I saw a notable spectacle, and one which has lingered in my memory.
First, near the top of the stairs, stood the tall, gaunt form of the good mother, holding her great silver cross aloft as she cried for help. A few steps below her stood Rachmanof, sword in hand. God knows whether he had meant to strike the old woman down or merely to frighten her, but there was the sword.
At the foot of the stairs were two other young fellows, dressed in the uniform of the Streltsi regiments. These two held between them the form of the old doorkeeper, having gagged her mouth to stop her crying.
Their lips had been opened to laugh, but at sight of me their faces settled into a grim expression, and Rachmanof flushed and looked furiously angry.
They had shut the outer door behind them, fearing, doubtless, that any uproar might assemble a crowd whose attitude would be hostile to them.