Then, leaning against the gate, and steadying himself, so as not to fall, he stood there weak and faint, while the dogs, on the other side of the wooden partition which now separated him from death—­and what a death! erect upon their hind legs, like rampant, heraldic animals, tried to break through, cracking, in their gory jaws, long strips of wood torn from the barrier which kept them from their human prey.

Michel never knew how long he remained there, listening to the hideous growling of his bloodthirsty enemies.  At last the thought came to him that he must go; but how was he to drag himself to the place where Pierre was waiting for him?  It was so far! so far!  He would faint twenty times before reaching there.  Was he about to fail now after all he had gone through?

His left leg was frightfully painful; but he thought he could manage to walk with it.  His left shoulder and arm, however, at the least movement, caused him atrocious agony, as if the bones had been crushed by the wheel of some machine.  He sought for his handkerchief, and enveloped his bleeding arm in it, tying the ends of it with his teeth.  Then he tottered to a woodpile near by, and, taking one of the long sticks, he managed with its aid to drag himself along the alley, while through the branches the moon looked calmly down upon him.

He was worn out, and his head seemed swimming in a vast void, when he reached the end of the alley, and saw, a short way off down the avenue, the arch of the old bridge near which the coupe had stopped.  One effort more, a few steps, and he was there!  He was afraid now of falling unconscious, and remaining there in a dying condition, without his coachman even suspecting that he was so near him.

“Courage!” he murmured.  “On!  On!”

Two clear red lights appeared-the lanterns of the coup.  “Pierre!” cried Michel in the darkness, “Pierre!” But he felt that his feeble voice would not reach the coachman, who was doubtless asleep on his box.  Once more he gathered together his strength, called again, and advanced a little, saying to himself that a step or two more perhaps meant safety.  Then, all at once, he fell prostrate upon his side, unable to proceed farther; and his voice, weaker and weaker, gradually failed him.

Fortunately, the coachman had heard him cry, and realized that something had happened.  He jumped from his box, ran to his master, lifted him up, and carried him to the carriage.  As the light of the lamps fell on the torn and bloody garments of the Count, whose pallid and haggard face was that of a dead man, Pierre uttered a cry of fright.

“Great heavens!  Where have you been?” he exclaimed.  “You have been attacked?”

“The coup—­place me in the coup.”

“But there are doctors here.  I will go—­”

“No—­do nothing.  Make no noise.  Take me to Paris—­I do not wish any one to know—­To Paris—­at once,” and he lost consciousness.