Through the hail of blows on the stout doors, the rattle of stones at the windows, the prince could hear yells of execration and the wild laughter that is bred of destruction. He turned and entered the room. His face was gray and terrible.
“They have no chance,” he said, “of effecting an entrance by force; the lower windows are barred. They have no ladders, Steinmetz and I have seen to that. We have been expecting this for some days.”
He turned toward Steinmetz as if seeking confirmation. The din was increasing. When the German spoke he had to shout.
“We can beat them back if we like. We can shoot them down from the windows. But”—he paused, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed—“what will you! This prince will not shoot his father’s serfs.”
“We must leave you,” went on Paul. “We must beware of treachery. Whatever happens, we shall not leave the house. If the worst comes, we make our last stand in this room. Whatever happens, stay here till we come.”
He left the room, followed by Steinmetz. There were only three doors in the impregnable stone walls; the great entrance, a side door for use in times of deep snow, and the small concealed entrance by which the starosta was in the habit of reaching his masters.
For a moment the two men stood at the head of the stairs listening to the wild commotion. They were turning to descend the state stairs when a piercing shriek, immediately drowned by a yell of triumph, broke the silence of the interior of the castle. There was a momentary stillness, followed by another shriek.
“They are in!” said Steinmetz. “The side door.”
And the two men looked at each other with wide eyes full of knowledge.
As they ran to the foot of the broad staircase the tramp of scuffling feet, the roar of angry voices, came through the passages from the back of curtained doorways. The servants’ quarters seemed to be pandemonium. The sounds approached.