y since then the always-threatening
misfortune had fallen upon him. They were proceeding with his trial. The
one who seemed to preside over these strange sessions pronounced a name:

"Annouchka!"

A door opened, and Annouchka appeared.

Rouletabille hardly recognized her, she was so strangely dressed,
like the Russian poor, with her under-jacket of red-flannel and the
handkerchief which, knotted under her chin, covered all her beautiful
hair.

She immediately testified in Russian against the man, who protested
until they compelled him to be silent. She drew from her pocket papers
which were read aloud, and which appeared to crush the accused. He
fell back onto his seat. He shivered. He hid his head in his hands, and
Rouletabille saw the hands tremble. The man kept that position while
the other witnesses were heard, their testimony arousing murmurs of
indignation that were quickly checked. Annouchka had gone to take her
place with the others against the wall, in the shadows which more and
more invaded the room, at this ending of a lugubrious day. Two windows
reaching to the floor let a wan light creep with difficulty through
their dirty panes, making a vague twilight in the room. Soon nothing
could be seen of the motionless figures against the wall, much as the
faces fade in the frescoes from which the centuries have effaced the
colors in the depths of orthodox convents.

Now someone from the depths of the shadow and the appalling silence read
something; the verdict, doubtless.

The voice ceased.

Then some of the figures detached themselves from the wall and advanced.

The man who crouched near Rouletabille rose in a savage bound and cried
out rapidly, wild words, supplicating words, menacing words.

And then--nothing more but strangling gasps. The figures that had moved
out from the wall had clutched his throat.

The reporter said, "It is cowardly."

Annouchka's voice, low, from the depths of shadow, replied, "It is
just."

But Rouletabille was satisfied with having said that, for he had proved
to himself that he could still speak. His emotion had been such, since
they had pushed him into the center of this sinister and expeditious
revolutionary assembly of justice, that he thought of nothing but the
terror of not being able to speak to them, to say something to them, no
matter what, which would prove to them that he had no fear. Well, that
was over. He had not failed to say, "That is cowardly."

And h