y
played the balalaika at their thresholds, with the day's labor over.

And suddenly from the ineffable peace of his last evening, while the
balalaika mourned and the man overhead tested the solidity of his
ring-bolt, a voice outside, the grave, deep voice of Annouchka, sang for
the little Frenchman:

"For whom weave we now the crown
Of lilac, rose and thyme?
When my hand falls lingering down
Who then will bring your crown
Of lilac, rose and thyme?

O that someone among you would hear,
And come, and my lonely hand
Would press, and shed the friendly tear--
For alone at the end I stand.

Who now will bring the crown
Of lilac, rose and thyme?"

Rouletabille listened to the voice dying away with the last sob of the
balalaika. "It is too sad," he said, rising. "Let us go," and he wavered
a little.

They came to search him. All was ready above. They pushed him gently
towards the shed. When he was under the ring-bolt, near the stool, they
made him turn round and they read him something in Russian, doubtless
less for him than for those there who did not understand French.
Rouletabille had hard work to hold himself erect.

The gentleman of the Neva said to him further:

"Monsieur, we now read you the final formula. It asks you to say
whether, before you die, you have anything you wish to add to what we
know concerning the sentence which has been passed upon you."

Rouletabille thought that his saliva, which at that moment he had the
greatest difficulty in swallowing, would not permit him to utter a word.
But disdain of such a weakness, when he recalled the coolness of so many
illustrious condemned people in their last moments, brought him the last
strength needed to maintain his reputation.

"Why," said he, "this sentence is not wrongly drawn up. I blame it
only for being too short. Why has there been no mention of the crime I
committed in contriving the tragic death of poor Michael Korsakoff?"

"Michael Korsakoff was a wretch," pronounced the vindictive voice of the
young man who had presided at the trial and who, at this supreme moment,
happened to be face to face with Rouletabille. "Koupriane's police, by
killing that man, ridded us of a traitor."

Rouletabille uttered a cry, a cry of joy, and while he had some reason
for believing that at the point he had reached now of his too-short
career only misfortune could befall him, yet here Providence, in his
i