Yet we had done well to listen a little.
"… I think it went in there," said the voice of the Count, very near to us and just above our heads. "I judge it was a white owl."
"I shall try to get it for the Countess!" said Henry.
Then I heard the most unmistakable, and upon occasion also the most thrilling, of sounds—the clicking of a well-oiled lock. My heart leapt within me—no longer flying in swift, light fashion like footsteps running, but bounding madly in great leaps.
Silently I swept the Countess behind me into the recess of the niche, forcing her down upon the stone seat, and bending my body like a shield over her.
In a moment Henry's piece crashed close at my ear, a keen pain ran like molten lead down my arm; and, spite of my hand upon her lips, Lucia gave a little cry. "I think I got it that time!" I heard Henry's voice say. "Count, run round and see. I shall go this way."
"Run, Lucy," I whispered, "they are coming. They must not find you."
"But you are hurt?" she said anxiously.
"No," I said, lying to her, as a man does so easily to a woman. "I am not at all hurt. Have I hurt you?"
For I had thrust her behind me with all my might.