Meanwhile, her three companions succeeded in throwing themselves into the canoe and plied the oars hard while Koupriane's men, in the water up to their chests, discharged their revolvers at the fugitives.The men in the canoe, fearing to wound Natacha, made no reply to the firing.The yacht had sails up by the time they drew alongside, and made off like a bird toward the mysterious fords of Finland, audaciously hoisting the black flag of the Revolution.
Meantime, Koupriane's agents, trembling before his anger, gathered at the eating-house.The Prefect of Police let his fury loose on them and treated them like the most infamous of animals.The capture of Natacha was little comfort.He had planned for the whole bag, and his men's stupidity took away all his self-control.If he had had a whip at hand he would have found prompt solace for his mined hopes.Natacha, standing in a corner, with her face singularly calm, watched this extraordinary scene that was like a menagerie in which the tamer himself had become a wild beast.From another corner, Rouletabille kept his eyes fixed on Natacha who ignored him.
Ah, that girl, sphinx to them all! Even to him who thought a while ago that he could read things invisible to other vulgar men in her features, in her eyes! The impassive face of that girl whose father they had tried to assassinate only a few hours before and who had just pressed the hand of Priemkof, the assassin! Once she turned her head slightly toward Rouletabille.The reporter then looked towards her with increased eagerness, his eyes burning, as though he would say: "Surely, Natacha, you are not the accomplice of your father's assassins; surely it was not you who poured the poison!"But Natacha's glance passed the reporter coldly over.Ah, that mysterious, cold mask, the mouth with its bitter, impudent smile, an atrocious smile which seemed to say to the reporter: "If it is not I who poured the poison, then it is you!"It was the visage common enough to the daughters whom Koupriane had spoken of a little while before, "the young girls who read" and, their reading done, set themselves to accomplish some terrible thing, some thing because of which, from time to time, they place stiff ropes around the necks of these young females.
Finally, Koupriane's frenzy wore itself out and he made a sign.
The men filed out in dismal silence.Two of them remained to guard Natacha.From outside came the sounds of a carriage from Sestroriesk ready to convey the girl to the Dungeons of Sts.Peter and Paul.A final gesture from the Prefect of Police and the rough bands of the two guards seized the prisoner's frail wrists.
They hustled her along, thrust her outside, jamming her against the doorway, venting thus their anger at the reproaches of their chief.A few seconds later the carriage departed, not to stop until the fortress was reached with the trickling tombs under the bed of theriver where young girls about to die are confined - who have read too much, without entirely understanding, as Monsieur Kropotkine says.
Koupriane prepared to leave in turn.Rouletabille stopped him.
"Excellency, I wish you to tell me why you have shown such anger to your men just now.""They are brute beasts," cried the Chief of Police, quite beside himself again."They have made me miss the biggest catch of my life.They threw themselves on the group two minutes too early.
Some of them fired a gun that they took for the signal and that served to warn the Nihilists.But I will let them all rot in prison until I learn which one fired that shot.""You needn't look far for that," said Rouletabille."I did it.""You! Then you must have gone outside the touba?""Yes, in order to warn them.But still I was a little late, since you did take Natacha."Koupriane's eyes blazed.
"You are their accomplice in all this," he hurled at the reporter, "and I am going to the Tsar for permission to arrest you.""Hurry, then, Excellency," replied the reporter coldly, "because the Nihilists, who also think they have a little account to settle with me, may reach me before you."And he saluted.
