“What can you see?” I asked.
“Fir-woods and an avenue of snow between them,” said he. “Ah!” he gave a cry of surprise.
I sprang upon the barrel beside him. There was, as he said, a long, clear strip of snow in front. A man was riding down it, flogging his horse and galloping like a madman. As we watched, he grew smaller and smaller, until he was swallowed up by the black shadows of the forest.
“What does that mean?” asked Duroc.
“No good for us,” said I. “He may have gone for some brigands to cut our throats. Let us see if we cannot find a way out of this mousetrap before the cat can arrive.”
The one piece of good fortune in our favour was that beautiful lamp. It was nearly full of oil, and would last us until morning. In the dark our situation would have been far more difficult. By its light we proceeded to examine the packages and cases which lined the walls. In some places there was only a single line of them, while in one corner they were piled nearly to the ceiling. It seemed that we were in the storehouse of the Castle, for there were a great number of cheeses, vegetables of various kinds, bins full of dried fruits, and a line of wine barrels. One of these had a spigot in it, and as I had eaten little during the day, I was glad of a cup of claret and some food. As to Duroc, he would take nothing, but paced up and down the room in a fever of anger and impatience. “I’ll have him yet!” he cried, every now and then. “The rascal shall not escape me!”
This was all very well, but it seemed to me, as I sat on a great round cheese eating my supper, that this youngster was thinking rather too much of his own family affairs and too little of the fine scrape into which he had got me. After all, his father had been dead fourteen years, and nothing could set that right; but here was Etienne Gerard, the most dashing lieutenant in the whole Grand Army, in imminent danger of being cut off at the very outset of his brilliant career. Who was ever to know the heights to which I might have risen if I were knocked on the head in this hole-and-corner business, which had nothing whatever to do with France or the Emperor? I could not help thinking what a fool I had been, when I had a fine war before me and everything which a man could desire, to go off on a harebrained expedition of this sort, as if it were not enough to have a quarter of a million Russians to fight against, without plunging into all sorts of private quarrels as well.
“That is all very well,” I said at last, as I heard Duroc muttering his threats. “You may do what you like to him when you get the upper hand. At present the question rather is, what is he going to do to us?”
“Let him do his worst!” cried the boy. “I owe a duty to my father.”
“That is mere foolishness,” said I. “If you owe a duty to your father, I owe one to my mother, which is to get out of this business safe and sound.”
My remark brought him to his senses.
“I have thought too much of myself!” he cried. “Forgive me, Monsieur Gerard. Give me your advice as to what I should do.”
“Well,” said I, “it is not for our health that they have shut us up here among the cheeses. They mean to make an end of us if they can. That is certain. They hope that no one knows that we have come here, and that none will trace us if we remain. Do your hussars know where you have gone to?”
“I said nothing.”
“Hum! It is clear that we cannot be starved here. They must come to us if they are to kill us. Behind a barricade of barrels we could hold our own against the five rascals whom we have seen. That is, probably, why they have sent that messenger for assistance.”
“We must get out before he returns.”
“Precisely, if we are to get out at all.”
“Could we not burn down this door?” he cried.
“Nothing could be easier,” said I. “There are several casks of oil in the corner. My only objection is that we should ourselves be nicely toasted, like two little oyster pâtés.”
“Can you not suggest something?” he cried, in despair. “Ah, what is that?”
There had been a low sound at our little window, and a shadow came between the stars and ourselves. A small, white hand was stretched into the lamplight. Something glittered between the fingers.
“Quick! Quick!” cried a woman’s voice.
We were on the barrel in an instant.
“They have sent for the Cossacks. Your lives are at stake. Ah, I am lost! I am lost!”
There was the sound of rushing steps, a hoarse oath, a blow, and the stars were once more twinkling through the window. We stood helpless upon the barrel with our blood cold with horror. Half a minute afterwards we heard a smothered scream, ending in a choke. A great door slammed somewhere in the silent night.
“Those ruffians have seized her. They will kill her,” I cried.
Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate shouts of one whose reason has left him. He struck the door so frantically with his naked hands that he left a blotch of blood with every blow.
“Here is the key!” I shouted, picking one from the floor. “She must have thrown it in at the instant that she was torn away.”
My companion snatched it from me with a shriek of joy. A moment later he dashed it down upon the boards. It was so small that it was lost in the enormous lock. Duroc sank upon one of the boxes with his head between his hands. He sobbed in his despair. I
