52 MATHIAS SANDORF. Part III. Point Pescade set himself to reflect, and where could he find a better position for reflection? "That is Namir who has just gone into that room," he said to himself. "It is evident she is not going to Sava Sandorf! But perhaps she came from her, and, in that case, her room will be that one in the angle over there—I will go and see!" He waited a few minutes before he left his post. The light inside the skifa seemed to grow less, and the voices died out to a faint murmur. Doubtless the hour had come when Sidi Hazam's household retired to rest. The circumstances were, therefore, more favorable for him, for that part of the habitation would be plunged in silence when the last light had gone out. And that was exactly what happened. Pescade glided along the columns of the arcade, crept across the flags of the gallery, passed the door of the skifa, went round the end of the court-yard, and reached the angle near the room from which Namir had come. He opened the door, whicli was unlocked, and then, by the light of an Arab lamp, placed like a night-light beneath its shade, he gave a rapid glance round the room. A few hangings suspended from the walls here and there, a stool of Moorish pattern, cushions piled in the angles, a double carpet on the mosaic floor, a low table, with tlie fragments of a meal, a divan covered with linen cloth—that was what he first saw. He entered, and shut the door. A woman, dozing rather than sleeping, was reclining on the divan, half covered in one of those burnouses with whicli the Arabs wrap themselves from head to foot. It was Sava Sandorf. Point Pescade had no difficulty in recognizing the young lady he had met so many times in the streets of Ragusa. How changed she seemed to be. Pale as she had been when in her wedding-carriage she had met the funeral procession of Pierre Bathory, her attitude and the expression of her face all told she had had to suffer. There was not an instant to lose. And in fact, as the door had not been locked, was not Namir coming back? Perhaps the Moor guarded her night and day! And if the girl could leave her room, how could she escape without, help from the outside? Sidi Hazam's house was walled like a prison. Point Pescade bent over the divan. What was his as- tonishment at a resemblance which had never struck him before—the resemblance between Sava Sandorf and Dr. Antekirtt! The girl opened her eyes. In seeing a stranger standing near her in that fantastic dress of the acrobat, with his finger on his lips, and an appealing look in his eyes, she was at first bewildered rather than frightened. But she arose, and had sufficient coolness to make no sound. " Silence!" said Point Pescade. "You have nothing to fear from me! I have come here to save you! Behind those walls your friends are waiting for you, friends who will give their lives to get you out of Strcany's hands! Pierre Bathory is alive—" " Pierre—alive?" exclaimed Sava, restraining the beat- ings of her heart. "Read!" And Point Pescade gave the girl a letter, which con- tained these words— "Sava, trust him who has risked his life to reach you! I am alive! 1 am here! Piekke Bathory." Pierre was alive! He was at the foot of these walls! By what miracle? Sava would know later on ! But Pierre was there. " Let us escape!" she said. "Yes! Let us escape," answered Pescade. "But let us have all the chances on our side! One question, Is Namir accustomed to spend the night in this room?" "No," answered Sava. " Does she take the precaution of locking you in when • she is away?" "Yes." " Then she will come back?" "Yes! Let us go!" "Now," answered Pescade. And first they must reach the staircase of the minaret you gave your to gain the terrace. Once they got there the rope that hung down outside would render escape easy. "Come!" said Point Pescade, taking Sava's hand. And he was going to open tlie door when he heard steps coming along the gallery. At the same time a few words were pronounced in an imperious tone. Point Pescade recognized Sarcany's voice. He stopped at the threshold "It is he!" whispered the girl. "You are lost if he finds you here!" "He will not find me," answered Pescade. And throwing himself to the ground he then, by oneof those acrobatic contortions he had often performed in sight of an audience, wrapped himself up in one of the carpets on the floor and rolled himself into the darkest corner of the room. At the same moment the door opened to admit Sarcany and Namir, who shut it behind them. Sava resumed her seat on the divan. Why had Sarcany come to her at that hour? Was this a new attempt to- overcome her refusal? But Sava was strong now! She knew that Pierre Bathory was alive, that he was waiting outside. Beneath the carpet which covered him Point Pescade although he could not see, could hear everything. "Sava," said Sarcany, "to-morrow morning we are going to leave this for another residence. But I do not wish to leave here until you have consented to our mar- riage, until it has been celebrated. All is ready, and it is necessary that now—" "Neither now nor later!" replied the girl, in a voice as cold as it was resolute. " Sava," continued Sarcany, as though he had not heard this reply, " in the interest of both of us, it is nec- essary that your consent should be free. In the interest of both of us; you understand?" " We have not, and we never shall have, any interest in common." "Take care! I may remind you that consent at Ragusa." " For reasons which no longer exist." " Listen to me, Sava," said Sarcany, whose apparent calm hid the most violent irritation; "this is the last time I shall ask you for your consent." " And I shall refuse it as long as I have strength to do so." " Well, that strength we will take away from you," ex- claimed Sarcany. Do not drive me to extremes! Yes! the strength wliich you use against me Namir will take from you, and in spite of you if necessary. Do not resist me, Sava. The woman is here, ready to celebrate our marriage according to the custom of my own country. Follow me then!" Sarcany advanced toward the girl, who quickly rose and stepped back to the end of the room. " Scoundrel!" she exclaimed. "You will come with me! You will come with meP exclaimed Sarcany. "Never!" "Ah! Take care!" And Sarcany, having seized the girl's arm, was violently dragging her toward the skifa, with Namir's help, where Sidi Hazam and the imam were waiting. " Help! Help!" screamed Sava. " Help me—Pierre Bathory!" "Pierre Bathory!" exclaimed Siircany. "You arecall- ing a dead man to your help!" "No! He is alive! Help me—Pierre!" The answer was so unexpected by Sarcany that hecoulct not have been more frightened had he seen Pierre's ghost. But he was himself again soon. Pierre alive! Pierre, whom he had stabbed with his own hand, and seen buried in the cemetery at Ragusa! In truth, it could only be the idea of a mad woman, and it was possible that Sava, in the excess of her despair, had lost her reason! Point Pescade had heard all that passed. In telling Sarcany that Pierre was alive, Sava had staked her hie, that was certain. And in case the scoundrel offered any violence, he so disposed his carpet as to be ready to appeal on tbe scene instantly, knife in hand, and those who thought he would hesitate to strike did not know Point Pescade. There was no necessity for him to do so. Sarcany abruptly dragged Namir out of the room. Then the key