The woman stared at him in wild amazement. That she was free temporarily at least, could not be gainsaid. Her captors had not seen fit to bind her and she now stood absolutely untouched by anyone. The shooting, the fighting, had confused her. She had only seen Marteau as an accomplice and friend of her assailants, she had no clew to his apparent change of heart. She did not know whether she had merely exchanged masters or what had happened. Smiling ironically at her bewilderment, which he somehow resented in his heart, Marteau proceeded to further explanation.

"You are free, mademoiselle," he repeated emphatically, bowing before her.

"But I thought——"

"Did you think that I could be allied with such cowardly thieves and vagabonds as those?"

"But you said——"

"It was simply a ruse. Could you imagine that one of my family, that I, should fail in respect and devotion to one of yours, to you? I determined to free you the instant I saw you."

"And will you not complete your good work?" broke out the man tied to the chair in harsh and foreign but sufficiently comprehensible French, "by straightway releasing me, young sir?"

"But who is this?"

"This is Sir Gervaise Yeovil," answered Mademoiselle Laure, "my attorney, an English officer-of-the-law, of Lord Castlereagh's suite, who came with me from Chatillon to get certain papers and——"

"Why all this bother and explanation?" burst out Sir Gervaise. "Tell him to cut these lashes and release me from this cursed bondage," he added in English.

"That is quite another matter, sir," said Marteau gravely. "I regret that you are an enemy and that I can not——"

"But we are not enemies, Monsieur," cried one of the officers, who had just succeeded in working a gag out of his mouth. "We are Russian officers of the Imperial Guard and since you have deserted the cause of the Corsican you will——"

"Deserted!" thundered Marteau, his pale face flaming. "That was as much a ruse as the other."

"What, then, do you mean by wearing a Russian coat over your uniform and——"

"He is a spy. He shall be hanged," said the other, also freeing himself of his gag.

"Indeed," laughed Marteau. "And do you gentlemen ask me to release you in order that you may hang me?"

"I won't hang you," burst out the Englishman. "On the contrary, I'll give you fifty pounds if you'll cut these cords and——"

Marteau shook his head.

"Countess," bellowed Yeovil angrily, "there's a knife on the table yonder, pray do you——"

The young woman made a swift step in that direction, but the Frenchman was too quick for her.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle, I beg that the first use you make of your new life be not to aid my enemies."

"Your enemies, Marteau?"

"The enemies of France, then."

"Not my uncle's France," said the girl.

"But your father's, and I had hoped yours."

"No, no."

"In any event, these gentlemen must remain bound for the time being. No harm shall come to you from me," continued Marteau, addressing the two officers. "But as for these hounds——" He stepped over to the two Cossacks, who lay mute. He bent over them with such a look of rage, ruthless determination and evil purpose in his face as startled the woman into action.

"Monsieur!" she cried, stepping over to him and striving to interpose between him and the two men. "Marteau, what would you do?"

"My sister—dead in the cottage yonder after—after——" he choked out. He stopped, his fingers twitching. "My old father! If I served them right I would pitch them into yonder fireplace or torture them, the dogs, the cowards!"

"My friend," said the young Countess gently, laying her hand on his arm.

Marteau threw up his hands, that touch recalled him to his senses.

"I will let them alone for the present," he said. "Meanwhile——" He seized the dead man and dragged the body out of sight behind the tables.

"Will monsieur give a thought to me?" came another voice from the dim recesses of a far corner.

"And who are you?" asked Marteau, lifting the light and staring.

"A Frenchman, sir. They knocked me on the head and left me for dead, but if monsieur would assist me I——"

Marteau stepped over to him, bent down and lifted him up. He was a stout, hardy looking peasant boy, pale cheeked, with blood clotted around his forehead from a blow that he had received. Feverish fire sparkled in his eyes.

"If monsieur wishes help to put these brutes out of the way command me," he said passionately.

"We will do nothing with them at present," answered Marteau.

"Quick, Laure, the knife," whispered the Englishman.

The Frenchman heard him, however, and wheeled around.

"Mademoiselle," he cried, "on your honor I charge you not to abuse the liberty I have secured for you and that I allow you."

"But, my friends——"

"If you had depended on your friends you would even now be——" he paused—"as my sister," he added with terrific intensity.

"Your pleasure shall be mine," said the young woman.

"If I could have a drink of wine!" said the young peasant, sinking down into a chair.

"There is a flask which they did not get in the pocket of one of the officers yonder," said the young Frenchwoman, looking sympathetically at the poor exhausted lad.

Marteau quickly recovered it, in spite of the protestations of the officer, who looked his indignation at this little betrayal by the woman. He gave some of it to the peasant and then offered it to mademoiselle and, upon her declining it, took a long drink himself. He was weak and trembling with all he had gone through.

"Now, what's to be our further course?" asked the countess.

"I don't know yet. I——"

But the answer was never finished. Shots, cries, the sound of galloping horses came faintly through the open door.

"My men returning!" cried the Russian officer triumphantly. "Our turn will come now, sir."

Two courses were open. To run or to fight. Duty said go; love said stay. Duty was stronger. After a moment's hesitation Marteau dashed for the door. He was too late. The returning Russian cavalry was already entering the courtyard. Fate had decided against him. He could not go now. He thought with the swiftness of a veteran. He sprang back into the hall, threw the great iron-bound door into its place, turned the massive key in its lock, thanking God that key and lock were still intact, dropped the heavy bars at top and bottom that further secured it, just as the first horseman thundered upon the door.

In his rapid passage through the house the young Frenchman had noticed that all the windows were shuttered and barred, that only the front door appeared to have been opened. He was familiar with the château. He knew how carefully its openings had been secured and how often his father had inspected them, to keep out ............