mply dressed, like respectable small merchants.
They also acted curiously and looked all around the shop. Pere Alexis
grew more and more alarmed and the others pulled rudely at his beard.

"I believe these men here have come to rob me," he cried in French.
"What do you say, my son?--Shall I call the police?"

"Hold on," replied Rouletabille impassively. "They are all armed; they
have revolvers in their pockets."

Pere Alexis's teeth commenced to chatter. As he tried to get near
the door he was roughly pushed back and a final personage entered,
apparently a gentleman, and dressed as such, save that he wore a visored
leather cap.

"Ah," said he at once in French, "why, it is the young French journalist
of the Grand-Morskaia Hotel. Salutations and your good health! I see
with pleasure that you also appreciate the counsels of our dear Pere
Alexis."

"Don't listen to him, little friend; I don't know him," cried Alexis
Hutch.

But the gentleman of the Neva went on:

"He is a man close to the first principles of science, and therefore not
far from divine; he is a holy man, whom it is good to consult at moments
when the future appears difficult. He knows how to read as no one else
can--Father John of Cronstadt excepted, to be strictly accurate--on the
sheets of bull-hide where the dark angels have traced mysterious signs
of destiny."

Here the gentleman picked up an old pair of boots, which he threw on the
counter in the midst of the ikons.

"Pere Alexis, perhaps these are not bull-hide, but good enough cow-hide.
Don't you want to read on this cow-hide the future of this young man?"

But here Rouletabille advanced to the gentleman, and blew an enormous
cloud of smoke full in his face.

"It is useless, monsieur," said Rouletabille, "to waste your time and
your breath. I have been waiting for you."

XVI. BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL

Only, Rouletabille refused to be put into the basket. He would not let
them disarm him until they promised to call a carriage. The Vehicle
rolled into the court, and while Pere Alexis was kept back in his shop
at the point of a revolver, Rouletabille quietly got in, smoking his
pipe. The man who appeared to be the chief of the band (the gentleman of
the Neva) got in too and sat down beside him. The carriage windows were
shuttered, preventing all communication with the outside, and only a
tiny lantern lighted the interior. They started. The carriage was driven
by two men