could see already the poor
singer, in spite of all her safeguards and the favor of the Imperial
family, on the road to the Siberian steppes or the dungeons of
Schlusselbourg.

"My, what a country!" he murmured.

But his thoughts soon quit Annouchka and returned to the object of his
main preoccupation. He waited for only one thing, and for that as soon
as possible--to have a private interview with Natacha. He had written
her ten letters in two days, but they all remained unanswered. It was an
answer that he waited for so patiently in the vestibule of the hotel--so
patiently, but so nervously, so feverishly.

When the postman entered, poor Rouletabille's heart beat rapidly. On
that answer he waited for depended the formidable part he meant to play
before quitting Russia. He had accomplished nothing up to now, unless he
could play his part in this later development.

But the letter did not come. The postman left, and the schwitzar, after
examining all the mail, made him a negative sign. Ah, the servants who
entered, and the errand-boys, how he looked at them! But they never came
for him. Finally, at six o'clock in the evening of the second day, a man
in a frock-coat, with a false astrakhan collar, came in and handed the
concierge a letter for Joseph Rouletabille. The reporter jumped up.
Before the man was out the door he had torn open the letter and read it.
The letter was not from Natacha. It was from Gounsovski. This is what it
said:

"My dear Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, if it will not inconvenience
you, I wish you would come and dine with me to-day. I will look for
you within two hours. Madame Gounsovski will be pleased to make your
acquaintance. Believe me your devoted Gounsovski."

Rouletabille considered, and decided:

"I will go. He ought to have wind of what is being plotted, and as for
me, I don't know where Annouchka has gone. I have more to learn from
him than he has from me. Besides, as Athanase Georgevitch said, one may
regret not accepting the Head of the Okrana's pleasant invitation."

From six o'clock to seven he still waited vainly for Natacha's response.
At seven o'clock, he decided to dress for the dinner. Just as he rose,
a messenger arrived. There was still another letter for Joseph
Rouletabille. This time it was from Natacha, who wrote him:

"General Trebassof and my step-mother will be very happy to have you
come to dinner to-day. As for myself, monsieur, you will pardon me the
order whi