rushed about without hope of escape,
surrounded by the flames, which each moment
gained upon them. Two of them in wild
despair threw themselves from the roof and
were killed on the pavement below. The
third remained; and, suffocating with the
smoke, screamed for assistance in a manner
that struck agony in the hearts of all who
heard him. His death seemed inevitable.
There was not a ladder of sufficient length to
reach the roof of the building, and the
miserable man had the alternative of perishing
by the flames or leaping down, as his
comrades had done. But even in this extremity
his confidence did not forsake him,
and he sought refuge on that side where the
wind blew the flames away from him. Mârine
and his companions all this time were
spectators of the scene. "I held my tongue,"
said Mârine, "but my heart beat painfully,
and I asked myself how I could save this
poor soul."

"Companions," cried the brave fellow,
suddenly, "wait for me here while I try and save
that man." His comrades looked at him with
surprise, but without dissuading him from
his purpose. "God be with you," said they,
"for it is a good deed you are about to do."
Without losing another moment, Mârine
approached the authorities present, and
solicited permission to try and rescue the
man from the frightful death which menaced
him. Permission obtained, he took off his cap
and sheepskin coat, and confided them to the
care of the police. Accompanied by his
brother, and provided with a stout cord, he
rushed to a ladder that was placed against
the wall, but which was very far from reaching
the roof. Mârine made the sign of the
Cross, and began to ascend. When he reached
the summit, he fastened the cord around
his waist, and, once more devoutly crossing
himself, began to climb one of the pipes
that led from the roof. The crowd below,
breathless with astonishment and fear, eagerly
watched each movement. Around him the
flames were playing with intense fury; and
above the terrible noise of the falling timbers
were heard the fearful shrieks of the unfortunate
man; who, though he saw assistance
coming to him, dreaded it might be too late.
Nothing daunted, Mârine continued his
perilous ascent. "It was cold," said he, "and
there was a terrible wind, but yet I felt it
not; for, from the moment I determined upon
trying to save the fellow, my heart was on fire,
and I was like a furnace." His burning hands
kept continually sticking to the frozen pipes,
which somewhat retarded his progress; but
still he courageously continued his way. "The
pipe cracked," said he; "it was no longer
firm—this dear pipe; but, happily I arrived
at the cornice, where there was foot-room."

His brother, who had remained all this
time on the ladder, had made a hook fast
to one end of the cord. Mârine passed it to
the man on the roof, and desired him to
fasten it somehow securely; this he did
by fixing it round one of the ornaments of
the cornice. Mârine doubled it, to make it
more secure, and then made him slide down
the pipe, holding the cord in his hand,
and his knees firmly round the pipe—
himself giving the example. At the moment
Mârine reached the ladder, and the man he
had so nobly preserved was seen to glide
down in safety, a remarkable movement was
manifested by the crowd—a movement truly
Russian—all heads were simultaneously
uncovered, and all hands made the sign of the
Cross. When Marine reached the ground,
the man was already half-way down the ladder,
and out of all danger. "I had hardly reached
the ground," relates Mârine, "when a gentleman,
in a cloak and military casque,
approached me, and gave me twenty-five silver
roubles." A great number of others
surrounded him and each gave him according to
his means—some ten copecks silver, others
a rouble, and some only copper. "Thanks,
brave man!" was cried on all sides; "you
are a courageous and good Christian; and
may God long grant you health, and bless
you!"

"What became of the man I rescued,"
said Mârine, " I do not know; but that
is not my affair. Thanks to God, he is
saved. A gentleman—an aide-de-camp—came
to me, gave me a ticket, and took me in his
sledge to the office of the Chancellerie, where
he wrote down all that had taken place."
During this time Mârine did not lose his
presence of mind; he was only anxious about
one thing—that the railway should not leave
without him. At three o'clock he was in the
waggon; and, on Friday, the thirteenth, he
arrived at his destination, where he was
waited for by his master, Monsieur Flottof.
He requested permission for one day's leave,
to visit his aunt, who kept a small shop in the
Vassili Ostroff, which was readily granted;
when, leaving her to return home, he was
astonished at being called to the house of the
Grand Master of the Police, who accompanied
him to the palace. The courage, of
which he had so lately given so strong a
proof, had been brought to the knowledge of
the Emperor, who desired to see him.

Never had he thought, even in his wildest
dreams, that such an honour would be
accorded to him, a simple man of the people.
The Emperor received Mârine in his cabinet,
and, with the greatest kindness, said, "Mârine,
I thank thee for the good and great action
thou hast performed; but I wish to hear from
thy own mouth how, with God's assistance,
thou didst it;" Mârine related the adventure
to him in his own simple manner, and, when
he had finished, the Czar, who had listened to
him with the greatest attention, embraced
him, and said: "My son, may God bless
you! and remember, it' you ever stand in
need of my assistance, come to me and it
shall be accorded you." The Emperor then