ked for her, but he worked only for
himself. The day that I was convinced of it, Sire, by my examination of
the approach to the balcony, I had a mind to warn Natacha, to go to her
and say, 'Get rid of that man. He will betray you. If you need an agent,
I am at your service.' But that day, at Krestowsky, destiny prevented my
rejoining Natacha; and I must attribute it to destiny, which would not
permit the loss of that man. Michael Nikolaievitch, who was a traitor,
was too much in the 'combination,' and if he had been rejected he would
have ruined everything. I caused him to disappear! The great misfortune
then was that Natacha, holding me responsible for the death of a man she
believed innocent, never wished to see me again, and, when she did see
me, refused to have any conversation with me because I proposed that I
take Michael's place for her with the revolutionaries. She would have
nothing to do with me in order to protect her secret. Meantime, the
Nihilists believed they were betrayed by Natacha when they learned of
the death of Michael, and they undertook to avenge him. They seized
Natacha, and bore her off by force. The unhappy girl learned then, that
same evening, of the attack which destroyed the datcha and, happily,
still spared her father. This time she reached a definite understanding
with the revolutionary party. Her bargain was made. I offer you for
proof of it only her attitude when she was arrested, and, even in that
moment, her sublime silence."

While Rouletabille urged his view, the Emperor let him talk on and on,
and now his eyes were dim.

"Is it possible that Natacha has not been the accomplice, in all, of
Michael Nikolaievitch?" he demanded. "It was she who opened her father's
house to him that night. If she was not his accomplice she would have
mistrusted him, she would have watched him."

"Sire, Michael Nikolaievitch was a very clever man. He knew so well how
to play upon Natacha, and Annouchka, in whom she placed all her hope.
It was from Annouchka that she wished to hold the life of her father. It
was the word, the signature of Annouchka that she demanded before giving
her own. The evening Michael Nikolaievitch died, he was charged to bring
her that signature. I know it, myself, because, pretending drunkenness,
I was able to overhear enough of a conversation between Annouchka and
a man whose name I must conceal. Yes, that last evening, Michael
Nikolaievitch, when he entered the datcha, had the