in brown coats trimmed with false astrakhan. The dvornicks
saluted, believing it a police affair. The concierge made the sign of
the cross.

The journey lasted several hours without other incidents than those
brought about by the tremendous jolts, which threw the two passengers
inside one on top of the other. This might have made an opening for
conversation; and the "gentleman of the Neva" tried it; but in vain.
Rouletabille would not respond. At one moment, indeed, the gentleman,
who was growing bored, became so pressing that the reporter finally said
in the curt tone he always used when he was irritated:

"I pray you, monsieur, let me smoke my pipe in peace."

Upon which the gentleman prudently occupied himself in lowering one of
the windows, for it grew stifling.

Finally, after much jolting, there was a stop while the horses
were changed and the gentleman asked Rouletabille to let himself be
blindfolded. "The moment has come; they are going to hang me without
any form of trial," thought the reporter, and when, blinded with the
bandage, he felt himself lifted under the arms, there was revolt of his
whole being, that being which, now that it was on the point of dying,
did not wish to cease. Rouletabille would have believed himself
stronger, more courageous, more stoical at least. But blind instinct
swept all of this away, that instinct of conservation which had no
concern with the minor bravadoes of the reporter, no concern with the
fine heroic manner, of the determined pose to die finely, because
the instinct of conservation, which is, as its rigid name indicates,
essentially materialistic, demands only, thinks of nothing but, to live.
And it was that instinct which made Rouletabille's last pipe die out
unpuffed.

The young man was furious with himself, and he grew pale with the fear
that he might not succeed in mastering this emotion, he took fierce
hold of himself and his members, which had stiffened at the contact
of seizure by rough hands, relaxed, and he allowed himself to be led.
Truly, he was disgusted with his faintness and weakness. He had seen men
die who knew they were going to die. His task as reporter had led him
more than once to the foot of the guillotine. And the wretches he had
seen there had died bravely. Extraordinarily enough, the most criminal
had ordinarily met death most bravely. Of course, they had had leisure
to prepare themselves, thinking a long time in advance of that supreme
moment.