“We will go up ten or twelve at once and overpower him. I don’t mind being the first,” said the butcher; but the innkeeper pulled his sleeve—
“No, no, my dear friend; why risk your valuable life? Remember your wife and children. Let us set the old place on fire, and burn the wretches out.”
The idea seemed to commend itself to all; but presently a voice said hesitatingly, “What about Father Giorgei?”
“If they have killed him, it can’t signify to him what happens to the house; and if he has given them shelter, he deserves to be punished.”
This was convincing, and the mob rushed out to look for wood, several of them shouting up through the hole, “We have not forgotten you, foxes! We are going to smoke you out of your earth!”
“Surely we had better go before they come back?” said Cyril; but the old man shook his head—
“No; if we opened the shutter now they would see the light, and guess that we had a way of escape. Besides, they may be only trying to frighten us. When they have brought in their wood we will go, if they really set light to it. There will be plenty of time.”
The enemy were not long in returning, laden with logs and branches, which they deposited on the floor and against the wooden portions of the walls. When their preparations were complete, the butcher stepped under the hole once more, and shouted, without waiting to receive any answer.
“Foxes, it’s your last chance! Will you come down or be burnt?”
“See how obstinate they are!” snarled the innkeeper, who was already setting a light to a heap of shavings. “Well, they won’t break down honest people’s gates after this. Put a light wherever you can find any shavings, friends.”