speaking, they were all startled by a sudden
disturbance in the cellar, and in the gloom a man stumbled up the stairs
and ran past them. Barlasch had taken the precaution of bolting the huge
front door, which was large enough to give passage to a carriage. The
man, who exhaled an atmosphere of dust mingled with the disquieting
and all-pervading odour of smoke, rushed at the huge door and tugged
furiously at its handles.

Charles, who was on his heels, grasped his arm, but the man swung round
and threw him off as if he were a child. He had a hatchet in his hand
with which he aimed a blow at Charles, but missed him. Barlasch was
already going towards his musket, which stood in the corner against
the door-post, but the Russian saw his movement, and forestalled him.
Seizing the gun, he presented the bayonet to them, and stood with his
back to the door, facing the three men in a breathless silence. He was
a large man, dishevelled, with long hair tumbled about his head, and
light-coloured eyes, glaring like the eyes of a beast at bay.

In the background de Casimir, quick and calm, had already covered him
with the pistol produced as a persuasive to Barlasch. For a second there
was silence, during which they all could hear the call to arms in the
street outside. The patrol was hurrying down the Petrovka, calling the
assembly.

The report of the pistol rang through the house, shaking the doors and
windows. The man threw up his arms and stood for a moment looking at de
Casimir with an expression of blank amazement. Then his legs seemed to
slip away from beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. He turned
over with movements singularly suggestive of a child seeking a
comfortable position in bed, and lay quite still, his cheek on the
pavement and his staring eyes turned towards the cellar-door from which
he had emerged.

"He has his affair--that parishioner," muttered Barlasch, looking at him
with a smile that twisted his mouth to one side. And, as he spoke, the
man's throat rattled. De Casimir was reloading his pistol. So persistent
was the gaze of the dead man's eyes that de Casimir turned on his heel
to look in the same direction.

"Quick!" he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from which a lazy white
smoke emerged in thin puffs. "Quick, he has set fire to the house!"

"Quick--with what, mon colonel?" asked Barlasch.

"Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine."

"There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon co