nfinite grace, sent him before he died this ineffable consolation: the
certainty that he had not been mistaken.

"Pardon, pardon," he murmured, in an excess of joy which stifled him
almost as much as the wretched rope would shortly do that they were
getting ready behind him. "Pardon. One second yet, one little second.
Then, messieurs, then, we are agreed in that, are we? This Michael,
Michael Nikolaievitch was the the last of traitors."

"The first," said the heavy voice.

"It is the same thing, my dear monsieur. A traitor, a wretched traitor,"
continued Rouletabille.

"A poisoner," replied the voice.

"A vulgar poisoner! Is that not so? But, tell me how--a vulgar poisoner
who, under cover of Nihilism, worked for his own petty ends, worked for
himself and betrayed you all!"

Now Rouletabille's voice rose like a fanfare. Someone said:

"He did not deceive us long; our enemies themselves undertook his
punishment."

"It was I," cried Rouletabille, radiant again. "It was I who wound up
that career. I tell you that was managed right. It was I who rid you of
him. Ah, I knew well enough, messieurs, in the bottom of my heart I knew
that I could not be mistaken. Two and two make four always, don't they?
And Rouletabille is always Rouletabille. Messieurs, it is all right,
after all."

But it was probable that it was also all wrong, for the gentleman of the
Neva came up to him hat in hand and said:

"Monsieur, you know now why the witnesses at your trial did not raise a
fact against you that, on the contrary, was entirely in your favor.
Now it only remains for us to execute the sentence which is entirely
justified on other grounds."

"Ah, but--wait a little. What the devil! Now that I am sure I have not
been mistaken and that I have been myself, Rouletabille, all the time I
cling to life a little--oh, very much!"

A hostile murmur showed the condemned man that the patience of his
judges was getting near its limit.

"Monsieur," interposed the president, "we know that you do not belong to
the orthodox religion; nevertheless, we will bring a priest if you wish
it."

"Yes, yes, that is it, go for the priest," cried Rouletabille.

And he said to himself, "It is so much time gained."

One of the revolutionaries started over to a little cabin that had been
transformed into a chapel, while the rest of them looked at the reporter
with a good deal less sympathy than they had been showing. If his
bravado had impressed th