"Dieu merci!" murmured the lady, falling on her knees at the bedside.
"Ah, les braves Anglais!" said the marquis, grasping Burton's right hand with his left, and jerking his arm up and down like a pump handle.
They looked at old Pierre, who had raised himself, and was feebly shouting: "Vivent les Anglais! Vive monsieur le sourd-muet!"
Then, to Burton's amazement, he cracked his fingers, and laughed like a lunatic.
"The poor fellow's brain is turned," said the marquis.
"No, no, monsieur, I am not crazy. Ah, ah! it was a trick to play!"
"What are you raving about, mon vieux?" asked the marquis.
"The smoke, monsieur! The paper! I gave the spy Schwikkard a foretaste. Ha! Surely he believed his last hour was come. See, monsieur, I burnt some brown paper in the stove under his nose. He would fire the château! Eh bien! assuredly he believed it was already on fire. It was drôle, monsieur--fine trick, n'est-ce pas?"
"Schwikkard is our prisoner, without doubt," said Burton to the marquis. "Shall we untie him?"
At this moment entered Major Colpus of the Lancers, stepping gingerly over the wreck of door and furniture.