ho had?

These shots were answered by a furious clamor. A volley was fired into
the cottage. Lasvene ran to the other side of the hut, and saw two men
running away. It was these men who fired. Both were dressed like
gipsies, but one was Cyprien, the lacquey of Monsieur de Talizac.

"We are lost!" thought Lasvene.

Instantly he pulled across the door his old oaken chest, and piled
chairs and tables upon it, the bed, everything that was movable in the
hut. Then, snatching one gun, he said:

"We must fight. Take the other!"

The Cossacks were amazed, but they fired through the window.

"Now!" cried Lasvene, and an officer fell. Jacques handed him the other
gun, and loaded the first.

Again a Cossack fell.

Francoise rushed to the old man's side.

"Save the children!" she cried.

"At the peril of your life?" he asked.

"Yes," was the reply of the devoted mother.

"Then take the other gun!"

Francoise obeyed.

"Come!" said the old man to Jacques.

"No," answered the boy, "they will kill mamma!"

"For Simon's sake!" cried Francoise.

Then Lasvene stooped to the ground, and with the aid of an iron ring
lifted a trap door.

"Down with you!" said the old man. "It is a subterranean passage, and
leads to the Fongereues estate. You have a league to go. God guard you!"

Another deafening discharge of musketry. The mother sank on her knees.

"Save Francinette!" she moaned.

"They have killed my mother!" sobbed the boy.

"Go!" cried Lasvene, "they are coming in!"

He seized the little girl and put her in her brother's arms, and
thrusting a pistol into the hands of the little fellow, he pushed him
toward the trap door.

"Mother! Mother!" cried the boy.

There was no time to lose. Lasvene lifted him by the collar and dropped
him into the dark hole, and closed the cover. Francoise extended her
arms to the old man. "Thanks!" she said.

"We are caught like rats in a hole!" he growled.

The Cossacks began to tear down the walls.

"Can you walk?" said the old soldier to Francoise.

"No!"

"Then you must die!"

"Will the children be saved?"

"Yes."

"Then do what you will!"

Lasvene snatched a burning log from the fire and threw it into the
middle of a pile of brushwood.

"Fan it!" he whispered hoarsely.

And Francoise dragged herself forward and fanned the flames with her
dying breath.

"Brave woman!" cried Lasvene. "And now, welcome death! Vive la France!"

He poured his flask of powder o