as easy for them
to carry away..."

"The Imperial family? No, I don't think it is that."

"What do you mean, then?"

"I? Nothing any more. Not only do I not think any more, but I don't wish
to. Tell me, Monsieur le Grand Marechal, it is useless, I suppose, to
try to see His Majesty before I go?"

"What good would it do, monsieur? We know everything now. This Natacha
that you defended against Koupriane is proved the culprit. The last
affair does not leave that in any reasonable doubt. And she is taken
care of from this time on. His Majesty wishes never to hear Natacha
spoken of again under any pretext."

"And what are you going to do with that young girl?"

"The Tsar has decided that there shall not be any trial and that the
daughter of General Trebassof shall be sent, by administrative order,
to Siberia. The Tsar, monsieur, is very good, for he might have had her
hanged. She deserved it."

"Yes, yes, the Tsar is very good."

"You are very absorbed, Monsieur Rouletabille, and you are not eating."

"I have no appetite, Monsieur le Marechal. Tell me,--the Emperor must be
rather bored at Tsarskoie-Coelo?"

"Oh, he has plenty of work. He rises at seven o'clock and has a light
English luncheon--tea and toast. At eight o'clock he starts and works
till ten. From ten to eleven he promenades."

"In the jail-yard?" asked Rouletabille innocently.

"What's that you say? Ah, you are an enfant terrible! Certainly we do
well to send you away. Until eleven he promenades in a pathway of the
park. From eleven to one he holds audience; luncheon at one; then he
spends the time until half-past two with his family."

"What does he eat?"

"Soup. His Majesty is wonderfully fond of soup. He takes it at every
meal. After luncheon he smokes, but never a cigar--always cigarettes,
gifts of the Sultan; and he only drinks one liqueur, Maraschino. At
half-past two he goes out again for a little air--always in his park;
then he sets himself to work until eight o'clock. It is simply frightful
work, with heaps of useless papers and numberless signatures. No
secretary can spare him that ungrateful bureaucratic duty. He must sign,
sign, sign, and read, read, read the reports. And it is work without any
beginning or end; as soon as some reports go, others arrive. At eight
o'clock, dinner, and then more signatures, working right up to eleven
o'clock. At eleven o'clock he goes to bed."

"And he sleeps to the rhythmical tramp of the guards on