Upon which, satisfied with himself this time, he sat
down again and commenced to write rapidly. They
left him in peace, as he desired. He did not
raise his head once, even at the moment when a murmur
louder than usual showed that the hearers regarded
Rouletabille’s crimes with especial detestation.
He had the happiness of having entirely completed
his correspond once when they asked him to rise to
hear judgment pronounced upon him. The supreme
communion that he had just had with his friend Sainclair
and with the dear Lady in Black restored all his spirit
to him. He listened respectfully to the sentence
which condemned him to death, though he was busy sliding
his tongue along the gummed edge of his envelope.
These were the counts on which he was to be hanged:
1. Because he had come to Russia and mixed in
affairs that did not
concern his nationality, and
had done this in spite of warning
to remain in France.
2. Because he had not kept the promises of neutrality
he freely
made to a representative of
the Central Revolutionary Committee.
3. For trying to penetrate the mystery of the
Trebassof datcha.
4. For having Comrade Matiew whipped and imprisoned
by Koupriane.
5. For having denounced to Koupriane the identity
of the two
“doctors” who
had been assigned to kill General Trebassof.
6. For having caused the arrest of Natacha Feodorovna.
It was a list longer than was needed for his doom.
Rouletabille kissed his ikons and handed them to
Annouchka along with the letters. Then he declared,
with his lips trembling slightly, and a cold sweat
on his forehead, that he was ready to submit to his
fate.
THE LAST CRAVAT
The gentleman of the Neva said to him: “If
you have nothing further to say, we will go into the
courtyard.”
Rouletabille understood at last that hanging him in
the room where judgment had been pronounced was rendered
impossible by the violence of the prisoner just executed.
Not only the rope and the ring-bolt had been torn
away, but part of the beam had splintered.
“There is nothing more,” replied Rouletabille.
He was mistaken. Something occurred to him,
an idea flashed so suddenly that he became white as
his shirt, and had to lean on the arm of the gentleman
of the Neva in order to accompany him.
The door was open. All the men who had voted
his death filed out in gloomy silence. The gentleman
of the Neva, who seemed charged with the last offices
for the prisoner, pushed him gently out into the court.
It was vast, and surrounded by a high board wall;
some small buildings, with closed doors, stood to
right and left. A high chimney, partially demolished,
rose from one corner. Rouletabille decided the
whole place was part of some old abandoned mill.
Above his head the sky was pale as a winding sheet.
A thunderous, intermittent, rhythmical noise appraised
him that he could not be far from the sea.
