cited her evening prayers. Annouchka was singularly beautiful.
Her aquiline nose with sensitive nostrils, the clean-cut outline of
her eyebrows, her look that now was almost tender, now menacing, always
unusual, her pale rounded cheeks and the entire expression of her face
showed clearly the strength of new ideas, spontaneity, deep resolution
and, above all, passion. The prayer was passionate. She had an admirable
contralto voice which affected the audience strangely from its very
first notes. She asked God for daily bread for everyone in the immense
Russian land, daily bread for the flesh and for the spirit, and she
stirred the tears of everyone there, to which-ever party they belonged.
And when, as her last note sped across the desolate steppe and she rose
and walked toward the miserable hut, frantic bravos from a delirious
audience told her the prodigious emotions she had aroused. Little
Rouletabille, who, not understanding the words, nevertheless caught the
spirit of that prayer, wept. Everybody wept. Ivan Petrovitch, Athanase
Georgevitch, Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff were standing up, stamping their
feet and clapping their hands like enthusiastic boys. The students, who
could be easily distinguished by the uniform green edging they wore on
their coats, uttered insensate cries. And suddenly there rose the first
strains of the national hymn. There was hesitation at first, a wavering.
But not for long. Those who had been dreading some counter-demonstration
realized that no objection could possibly be raised to a prayer for
the Tsar. All heads uncovered and the Bodje Taara Krari mounted,
unanimously, toward the stars.

Through his tears the young reporter never gave up his close watch on
Natacha. She had half risen, and, sinking back, leaned on the edge of
the box. She called, time and time again, a name that Rouletabille
could not hear in the uproar, but that he felt sure was "Annouchka!
Annouchka!" "The reckless girl," murmured Rouletabille, and, profiting
by the general excitement, he left the box without being noticed.
He made his way through the crowd toward Natacha, whom he had sought
futilely since morning. The audience, after clamoring in vain for a
repetition of the prayer by Annouchka, commenced to disperse, and the
reporter was swept along with them for a few moments. When he reached
the range of boxes he saw that Natacha and the family she had been
with were gone. He looked on all sides without seeing the object o