Then, with a gesture to those who surrounded Rouletabille: 

“Do your duty, messieurs.”

“Pardon, pardon.  But if I do prove the innocence of Natacha?  Just wait, messieurs.  There is only I who can prove that innocence!  You lose Natacha by killing me!”

“If you had been able to prove that innocence, monsicur, the thing would already be done.  You would not have waited.”

“Pardon, pardon.  It is only at this moment that I have become able to do it.”

“How is that?”

“It is because I was sick, you see — very seriously sick.  That affair of Michael Nikolaievitch and the poison that still continued after he was dead simply robbed me of all my powers.  Now that I am sure I have not been the means of killing an innocent man — I am Rouletabille again!  It is not possible that I shall not find the way, that I shall not see through this mystery.”

The terrible voice of the Christ-like figure said monotonously: 

“Do your duty, messieurs.”

“Pardon, pardon.  This is of great importance to you — and the proof is that you have not yet hanged me.  You were not so procrastinating with my predecessor, were you?  You have listened to me because you have hoped!  Very well, let me think, let me consider.  Oh, the devil!  I was there myself at the fatal luncheon, and I know better than anyone else all that happened there.  Five minutes!  I demand five minutes of you; it is not much.  Five little minutes!”

These last words of the condemned man seemed to singularly influence the revolutionaries.  They looked at one another in silence.

Then the president took out his watch and said: 

“Five minutes.  We grant them to you.”

“Put your watch here.  Here on this nail.  It is five minutes to seven, eh?  You will give me until the hour?”

“Yes, until the hour.  The watch itself will strike when the hour has come.”

“Ah, it strikes!  Like the general’s watch, then.  Very well, here we are.”

Then there was the curious spectacle of Rouletabille standing on the hangman’s stool, the fatal rope hanging above his head, his legs crossed, his elbow on his knees in that eternal attitude which Art has always given to human thought, his fists under his jaws, his eyes fixed — all around him, all those young men intent on his silence, not moving a muscle, turned into statues themselves that they might not disturb the statue which thought and thought.

XVIII

A SINGULAR EXPERIENCE

The five minutes ticked away and the watch commenced to strike the hour’s seven strokes.  Did it sound the death of Rouletabille?  Perhaps not!  For at the first silver tinkle they saw Rouletabille shake himself, and raise his head, with his face alight and his eyes shining.  They saw him stand up, spread out his arms and cry: