All of a sudden, the domestics, who had lately mounted the battlements, descend with precipitation, and open the gates: we heard the voice of Dourlinski himself, begging for quarter. The victors instantly precipitate themselves amidst the flames; and being at length attracted by our cries, they force open the door of our prison with their hatchets.
By their dress and their arms, I know them to be Tartars: their chief arrives——it is Titsikan!
“Ah! ah!” exclaims he; “it is my brave friend!”
I instantly throw myself on his neck:—“Titsikan!——Lodoiska!——a lady!——the fairest of women!——in that tower!——about to be burnt alive!”
These were the incoherent expressions by which I made my feelings known.
The Tartar instantly gives the word of command to his followers——they fly to the tower---I fly along with them---Boleslas follows us. They burst open the doors; and near to an old pillar we discover a narrow, winding stair-case, filled with smoke.
The Tartars, affrighted at the danger, start back: I prepare to ascend.
“Alas! what are you about?” exclaims Boleslas.
“To live or die with Lodoiska!”
“And I will either live or die with my master!” was the reply of my generous servant.