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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Do you know who applauded you the most this evening?" "No," said Annouchka indifferently. "The daughter of General Trebassof." "Yes, that is true, on my word," cried Ivan Petrovitch. "Yes, yes, Natacha was there," joined in the other friends from the datcha des Iles. "For me, I saw her weep," said Rouletabille, looking at Annouchka fixedly.
Some of them had a sleeve lying limp now, or walked with a crutch, or even on a wooden leg, but it was, all the same, "Nichevo!" The crowd this evening was denser than ordinarily, because there was the chance to hear Annouchka again for the first time since the somber days of Moscow.
When Rouletabille entered the Krestowsky Gardens, Annouchka had commenced her number, which ended with a tremendous "Roussalka."
Prince Galitch, amid the anguished silence of all there, started to add some words of comment to his sinister recital, but Annouchka interrupted: "The story is ended," said she. "Not a word, Prince. "She is mad," he muttered. "She is mad. What has come over her? What has happened? Only to-day she was so, so amiable."
Natacha hasn't been able to hold herself in since she read that Annouchka was going to make her debut at Krestowsky. She said she wasn't going to die without having seen the great artist." "Her father had almost drawn her away from that crowd," affirmed Ivan, "and that was as it should be. She must have fixed up this affair with Boris and his parents."
Even now he won't compromise his career by being seen at the home of a woman who is never from under the eyes of Gounsovski's agents and who hasn't been nicknamed 'Stool-pigeon' for nothing." "Then why do we go to supper tonight with Annouchka?" asked Ivan. "That's not the same thing. We are invited by Gounsovski himself.
Gossips said that if the government and the police showed themselves so long-enduring they found it to their interest to do so. The open, apparent life Annouchka led was less troublesome to them than her hidden activities would be. The lesser police who surrounded the Chief of the St. Petersburg Secret Service, the famous Gounsovski, had meaning smiles when the matter was discussed.
Without any curiosity as to which prince, Rouletabille cursed his luck and again asked for her address. "Why, she lives in an apartment just across the way." Rouletabille, feeling better, crossed the street, followed by the interpreter that he had engaged. Across the way he learned on the landing of the first floor that Mademoiselle Annouchka was away for the day.
Surrounded by a chorus of male and female dancers in the national dress and with red boots, striking tambourines with their fingers, then suddenly taking a rigid pose to let the young woman's voice, which was of rather ordinary register, come out, Annouchka had centered the attention of the immense audience upon herself.
"It was she who opened her father's house to him that night. If she was not his accomplice she would have mistrusted him, she would have watched him." "Sire, Michael Nikolaievitch was a very clever man. He knew so well how to play upon Natacha, and Annouchka, in whom she placed all her hope. It was from Annouchka that she wished to hold the life of her father.
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