“I do not know,” he reiterated sullenly.
I looked at the clock and ran my finger down the barrel of my pistol.
“The Boyar Ramodanofsky will be here in a quarter of an hour,” I said quietly, “and you can take your choice between answering him and leading me to the place.”
It seemed to me that the dwarf’s pale face turned green as he stared at us. It was the last straw, and he surrendered quickly enough.
“Zénaïde Feodorovna is safe,” he protested; “she is in a house across the Moskva, in the Biélui-gorod. I will take you there instantly, M. le Vicomte; I will do anything if you will but save me from that man’s hands.”
“Prepare yourself, then,” I said at once; “we will go without delay to the house, and woe to you if you have deceived me—in the smallest particular—for your life shall answer for Mademoiselle’s safety.”
Von Gaden had been called out of the room while I spoke, and returned now with a grave face. I was making ready for instant departure.
“You will have to go out by the secret stair, M. le Vicomte,” he said to me in French; “the Streltsi have risen, and there is a mob in the street. I hear them calling for me.”
While he was speaking, I heard a loud noise at the street door; in our excitement we had not noticed the sounds without, which might have warned us. We stood listening now, taken by surprise, and could hear the shouting of a mob and the crash of stones against the door.
“Where is your wife?” I asked at once.