“How came you here?” I exclaimed, at last.
“With the Boyar Ramodanofsky,” Pierrot replied. “And we have not a moment to lose, M. le Vicomte; the house is burning in the kitchen wing. Come down as quickly as you can.”
“The rioters!” gasped Zénaïde, looking at him in amazement.
“The boyar can get us through,” Pierrot said; and then, to my astonishment, I noticed that he wore the full uniform of the Streltsi.
Some one else was coming along the hall, and he stood aside to let the new-comer enter—Zénaïde saw him before I did, and from her eyes I knew who it was. Feodor Sergheievitch came in as easily as if such scenes were his daily experiences. But at the sight of his daughter, he paused, looking at her strangely; and for the first time, I realized that he had not seen her since she was a child.
“It is your father, Zénaïde,” I exclaimed.
“The image of her mother,” he said, as if to himself. Then, without another word, he lifted her in his arms. “Follow me, M. de Brousson,” he said calmly; “the fire will cut off the stairs in five minutes.”
And he went out with his daughter in his arms, Zénaïde looking over his shoulder at me with imploring eyes. He carried her as easily as he would have carried an infant, and led the way, Pierrot and I following closely. The hall was thick with smoke, and I saw why he had wasted no time in words. It was life or death, and I could not but admire his iron composure, even while I fretted that the task of protecting Zénaïde had been taken from me by one who had a better right. He took us towards the other side of the house and descended the stairs by the rooms that had been mademoiselle’s. Every step brought us nearer to the howling demons below, and I saw Zénaïde’s hands clutch his shoulders as if she doubted his ability to face the mob; but he never paused; down, down we went. Pierrot and I had drawn our swords, but both Feodor’s arms were about his daughter, and his stern face set with a resolution that no peril could shake. We could hear the rioters breaking furniture and smashing glass, and now and then their voices rose in fierce profane contention over some coveted spoil. They were crowding into this wing, for the fire was eating its way through the rest of the house, and even here the smoke was crawling in. Another turn, and we could see below. It was a wild scene. The contents of the rooms, smashed and heaped together, were being thrown into the hall, and a group of rioters were dragging out a cask of liquor from the cellar. Two or three brawny fellows were coming in at the door as the boyar advanced towards it. I tightened my grip on my sword, expecting that we should have to cut our way through; but Ramodanofsky swept on without hesitation, and they stood perplexed, not knowing what to do.
“Stand aside!” he thundered.
“Why so fast, master?” one of them exclaimed insolently.