While the women were creeping down ahead of me, I reflected upon the risks of our situation, and speculated a little upon the chances of Ramodanofsky’s having neglected to set a watch upon his niece. All these thoughts crowded into my mind, as thoughts always do, in such a crisis. We had the long court to cross before we could be out of range of a dozen windows. Mademoiselle Eudoxie seemed nerved by the excitement of the moment, and preceded us with a firm step, Zénaïde’s slender cloaked figure following her, and I so close behind that her garments brushed against me as we went. We got down the stairs safe, and across the anterooms, and mademoiselle had unfastened the postern, before a noise to the left startled us and hastened her movements. She and Zénaïde were passing out when a door opposite was thrown open and a man stood on the threshold, holding a light in his hand. In the first moment, the sudden illumination in the dark hall dazzling our eyes, I do not think that he saw me any more distinctly than I saw him. I was carrying my sheathed sword in my hand, and the inspiration coming to me with the peril, I struck the light from his hand, and it sputtered and went out on the floor; but in the instant before extinction it flared up, and I recognized the steward Polotsky, and feared that he recognized me. The next moment I was outside, and had closed the door behind me. Mademoiselle Eudoxie, with a quickness of thought that I had not given her credit for, had removed the key from the inside out, and turned it now before joining our hurried flight across the court. I was regretting all the while that I had not struck Polotsky down, but my hand had been stayed by fear of an outcry, which would have roused the house.
Half way across the court, Mademoiselle Eudoxie halted with a little suppressed cry, pointing to a man in front of us. It was too late to retreat now, and Zénaïde evidently understood this as well as I did, for she advanced calmly towards him, taking the lead, as became her position in the house. He stood aside for her, and to my relief, I recognized Pierrot. Seeing me, he fell into line, and followed us, greatly to mademoiselle’s discomfiture; but there was no time for explanation, and we passed out of the courtyard without further incident. Pierrot, running ahead, summoned the carriage with two low whistles, and we helped mademoiselle and Zénaïde to get in, I following them, while Pierrot rode with the coachman. Once fairly off, I drew a sigh of relief. There were, at least, no signs of pursuit or indeed of any disturbance, the house maintaining a quiet that made me marvel at Polotsky’s failure to give the alarm, and I began to wonder a little if he was not the best person to have discovered us; but mademoiselle quickly dispelled this illusion when I told her who had opened the door upon us.
“The saints defend us!” she exclaimed. “No one could be worse except the boyar himself. Polotsky is a devil!”
I was heartily of her opinion, but had the encouragement of feeling that we had so far evaded pursuit.
Zénaïde said nothing; I could discern the outline of her figure opposite me, and she seemed to have sunk back into her corner with an entire surrender of purpose, letting events shape themselves. We were driving fast, and the distance was not great.
“I wish you had killed him!” mademoiselle remarked, becoming suddenly bloodthirsty, which was amusing; for immediately a vision of her mild, frightened face arose.
“I would have killed him cheerfully,” I replied, “if I had not feared that he would raise an outcry, and so make your escape impossible.”
“He would have done so; he is a great coward,” said Zénaïde, quietly. “Besides,” she added to mademoiselle, “you would not have M. le Vicomte’s sword stained with the blood of such a toad.”
“Dead men tell no tales,” mademoiselle muttered to herself, “and I have always dreaded that man; he has an eye like a cat’s.”
“He is undoubtedly an accomplished villain, for my uncle reposes great confidence in him,” remarked Zénaïde, with a bitter little laugh.