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Updated: June 25, 2025
Who are the two victims designated for this horrible vengeance, and who have light-heartedly accepted such a death for themselves as well as for the general? That is what we don't know. That is what we would have known, perhaps, if you had not prevented me from seizing the papers that Prince Galitch has now," Koupriane finished, turning hostilely toward Rouletabille. Rouletabille had turned pale.
Koupriane looked at Rouletabille as he had looked at him during the altercation they had on the edge of the Gulf. He decided the same way this time. "Very well," said he. "You have my word. The poor devil!" "You are a brave man, Monsieur Koupriane, but a little quick with the whip..." "What would you expect? One's work teaches that." "Good morning. No, don't trouble to show me out.
Rouletabille was not able to restrain a joyous movement hardly in keeping. "You can ring now, Sire." And the Tsar rang. The reporter passed into a little salon, where he found the Marshal, Koupriane and Matrena Petrovna, who was "in a state." She threw a suspicious glance at Rouletabille, who was not treated this morning as the dear little domovoi-doukh.
He sat down again and let his head fall into his hands, like one sleep has seized. "Ah, our young girls; you don't know them. They are terrible, terrible!" said Koupriane, lighting a big cigar. "Much more terrible than the boys. In good families the boys still enjoy themselves; but the girls they read! It goes to their heads. They are ready for anything; they know neither father nor mother.
Koupriane had a hand badly burned, Athanase Georgevitch had his nose and cheeks seriously hurt, Ivan Petrovitch lost an ear; the most seriously injured was Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff, both of whose legs were broken. Extraordinarily enough, the first person who appeared, rising from the midst of the wreckage, was Matrena Petrovna, still holding Feodor in her arms.
"If we should... if... if," everybody speaking and everybody making signs for the others to be quiet. "Lower! If they hear us, we are lost." And Koupriane, who did not come, and his police, who themselves had brought two assassins into the house, and were not able now to make them leave without having everybody jump! They were certainly lost. There was nothing left but to say their prayers.
"Such a promise! Such an attitude toward me!" cried Koupriane. "But I will wait for the Emperor to tell me all these fine things. And your Natacha, what do you do with her?" "We release her also, monsieur. Natacha never has been the monster that you think." "How can you say that? Someone at least is guilty." "There are two guilty. The first, Monsieur le Marechal." "What!" cried the Marshal.
Well-informed men declared that the death of the previous "prime minister," who had been blown up before Varsovie station when he was on his way to the Tsar at Peterhof, was Gounsovski's work and that in this he was the instrument of the party at court which had sworn the death of the minister which inconvenienced it.* On the other hand, everyone regarded Koupriane as incapable of participating in any such horrors and that he contented himself with honest performance of his obvious duties, confining himself to ridding the streets of its troublesome elements, and sending to Siberia as many as he could of the hot-heads, without lowering himself to the compromises which, more than once, had given grounds for the enemies of the empire to maintain that it was difficult to say whether the chiefs of the Russian police played the part of the law or that of the revolutionary party, even that the police had been at the end of a certain time of such mixed procedure hardly able to decide themselves which they did.
"Is it possible!" murmured Matrena Petrovna. "But Koupriane would never have given you this paper if he had imagined that you would use it to dismiss his agents." "Evidently. I have not asked him his advice, madame, you may be sure. But I will see him to-morrow and he will understand." "Meanwhile, who is going to watch over him?" cried she. Rouletabille took her hands again.
"What have you done, then, Monsieur Rouletabille?" "Perhaps I have caused the death of an innocent man." "So long as you aren't sure of it, you would better not fret about it, my dear friend." "It is enough that the doubt has arisen," said the reporter, "almost to kill me;" and he heaved so gloomy a sigh that the excellent Monsieur Koupriane felt pity for the lad. He tapped him on the knee.
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