led by the noise and
the light. I turned desperately, pushing with my hands as one does in a
dream.

Then I saw Markovitch and Semyonov.

I had no doubt at all that the moment had at last arrived. It was as
though I had seen it all somewhere before. Semyonov was standing a
little apart leaning against a tree, watching with his sarcastic smile
the movements of the crowd. Markovitch was a little way off. I could see
his eyes fixed absolutely on Semyonov. He did not move nor notice the
people who jostled him. Semyonov made a movement with his hand as though
he had suddenly come to some decision. He walked slowly away in the
direction of the palace. Markovitch, keeping a considerable distance
from him, followed. For a moment I was held by the crowd around me, and
when at last I got free Semyonov had disappeared, and I could just see
Markovitch turning the corner of the palace.

I ran across the grass, trying to call out, but I could not hear my own
voice. I turned the corner, and instantly I was in a strange place of
peace. The old building with its wooden lattices and pillars stood
melancholy guard over the dead pond on whose surface some fragments of
ice still lay. There was no sun, only a heavy, oppressive air. All the
noise was muffled as though a heavy door had swung to.

They were standing quite close to me. Semyonov had turned and faced us
both. I saw him smile, and his lips moved. A moment later I saw
Markovitch fling his hand forward, and in the air the light on the
revolver twinkled. I heard no sound, but I saw Semyonov raise his arm,
as though in self-defence. His face, lifted strangely to the bare
branches, was triumphant, and I heard quite clearly the words, like a
cry of joy and welcome:

"At last!... At last!"

He tumbled forward on his face.

I saw Markovitch turn the revolver on himself, and then heard a report,
sharp and deafening, as though we had been in a small room. I saw
Markovitch put his hand to his side, and his mouth, open as though in
astonishment, was suddenly filled with blood. I ran to him, caught him
in my arms; he turned on me a face full of puzzled wonder, I caught the
word "Vera," and he crumpled up against my heart.

Even as I held him, I heard coming closer and closer the rough
triumphant notes of the "Marseillaise."

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secret City, by Hugh Walpole

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