Shutting his ears to the clamour, Axel looked around at the villa, counting the six columns in the portico, then gazed out across the lawn at the silver disc of the lake, its bowl reflecting the last evening light, and at the shadows moving between the tall trees, lengthening across the crisp turf.  He lingered over the bridge where he and his wife had stood arm in arm for so many summers –

“Axel!”

The tumult outside roared into the air; a thousand voices bellowed only twenty or thirty metres away.  A stone flew over the wall and landed among the time flowers, snapping several of the brittle stems.  The Countess ran towards him as a further barrage rattled along the wall.  Then a heavy tile whirled through the air over their heads and crashed into one of the conservatory windows.

“Axel!”  He put his arms around her, straightening his silk cravat when her shoulder brushed it between his lapels.

“Quickly, my dear, the last flower!”  He led her down the steps and through the garden.  Taking the stem between her jewelled fingers, she snapped it cleanly, then cradled it within her palms.

For a moment the tumult lessened slightly and Axel collected himself.  In the vivid light sparkling from the flower he saw his wife’s white, frightened eyes.  “Hold it as long as you can, my dear, until the last grain dies.”

Together they stood on the terrace, the Countess clasping the brilliant dying jewel, the air closing in upon them as the voices outside mounted again.  The mob was battering at the heavy iron gates, and the whole villa shook with the massive impact.

While the final glimmer of light sped away, the Countess raised her palms to the air, as if releasing an invisible bird, then in a final access of courage put her hands in her husband’s, her smile as radiant as the vanished flower.

“Oh, Axel!” she cried.

Like a sword, the darkness swooped down across them.