ach to watch
one of the staircases, reasoning that Koupriane and General Trebassof
would have to decide to descend.

The datcha des Iles was nothing now but a smoking ruin. But from the
fact that the living bombs had exploded separately the destructive
effect was diffused, and although there were numerous wounded, as in the
case of the attack on the Stolypine datcha, at least no one was killed
outright; that is, excepting the two Nihilists, of whom no trace could
be found save a few rags.

Rouletabille had been hurled into the garden and he was glad enough to
escape so, a little shaken, but without a scratch. The group composed of
Feodor and his friends were strangely protected by the lightness of the
datcha's construction. The iron staircase, which, so to speak, almost
hung to the two floors, being barely attached at top and bottom, raised
under them and then threw them off as it broke into a thousand pieces,
but only after, by its very yielding, it had protected them from the
first force of the bomb. They had risen from the ruins without mortal
wounds. 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. She had escaped with a few burns and the general,
saved again by the luck of the soldier whom Death does not want, was
absolutely uninjured. Feodor gave shouts of joy. They strove to quiet
him, because, after all, around him some poor wretches had been badly
hurt, as well as poor Ermolai, who lay there dead. The domestics in the
basement had been more seriously wounded and burned because the main
force of the explosion had gone downwards; which had probably saved the
personages above.

Rouletabille had been taken with the other victims to a neighboring
datcha; but as soon as he had shaken himself free of that terrible
nightmare he escaped from the place. He really regretted that he was not
dead. These successive waves of events had swamped him; and he accused
himself alone of all this disaster. With acutest anxiety he had inquired
about the condition of each of "his victims." Feodor had not been
wounded, but now he was almost delirious, asking every other minute as
the hours crept on for Natacha, who had not rea