o-day. There was plenty of room for the whole army in the
houses left empty by their owners, so that many lodged as they had never
lodged before and would never lodge again.

The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended
them. The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated the
supposed presence of a sentry.

"Listen," said Charles, "I found him burrowing like a rat at a
cellar-door in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got in."

They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way towards the
courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door he sought. It stood
open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting an entry to the cellar, where
his experience taught him to seek the best that an abandoned house
contains.

Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the light of
a candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile of cases,
and furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. He had laid
aside nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual rattle of
hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming on his face. Even
in this cellar there lingered the faint smell of sour smoke that filled
the air of Moscow.

De Casimir caught the gleam of jewellery, and went hurriedly downstairs.

"What are you doing there, my friend?" he asked, and the words were
scarcely out of his mouth, when Barlasch extinguished his candle. There
followed a dead silence, such as comes when a rodent is disturbed at his
work. The two men on the cellar-stairs were conscious of the gaze of the
bright, rat-like eyes below.

De Casimir turned and followed Charles upstairs again.

"Come up," he said, "and go to your post."

There was no movement in response.

"Name of a dog," cried de Casimir, "is all discipline relaxed? Come up,
I tell you, and obey my orders."

He emphasized his command with the cocking of a pistol, and a slight
disturbance in the darkness of the cellar heralded the unwilling
approach of Barlasch, who climbed the stairs step by step like a
schoolboy coming to punishment.

"It is I who found the door, mon colonel, behind that pile of firewood.
It is I who opened it. What is down there is mine," he said, sullenly.
But the only reply that de Casimir made was to seize him by the arm and
jerk him away from the stairs.

"To your post," he said, "take your arm, and out into the street, in
front of the house. That is your place."

But while he was still