“My young friend,” said she, in a voice more and more hesitant, “you must excuse me, but it is a long time since I have had good eyes for reading.”

Tears, at last, ran down her cheeks.

Rouletabille could not restrain himself any further.  He saw in one flash all this heroic woman had suffered in her combat day by day with the death which hovered.  He took her little fat hands, whose fingers were overloaded with rings, tremulously into his own: 

“Madame, do not weep.  They wish to kill your husband.  Well then, we will be two at least to defend him, I swear to you.”

“Even against the Nihilists!”

“Aye, madame, against all the world.  I have eaten all your caviare.  I am your guest.  I am your friend.”

As he said this he was so excited, so sincere and so droll that Madame Trebassof could not help smiling through her tears.  She made him sit down beside her.

“The Chief of Police has talked of you a great deal.  He came here abruptly after the last attack and a mysterious happening that I will tell you about.  He cried, ’Ah, we need Rouletabille to unravel this!’ The next day he came here again.  He had gone to the Court.  There, everybody, it appears, was talking of you.  The Emperor wished to know you.  That is why steps were taken through the ambassador at Paris.”

“Yes, yes.  And naturally all the world has learned of it.  That makes it so lively.  The Nihilists warned me immediately that I would not reach Russia alive.  That, finally, was what decided me on coming.  I am naturally very contrary.”

“And how did you get through the journey?”

“Not badly.  I discovered at once in the train a young Slav assigned to kill me, and I reached an understanding with him.  He was a charming youth, so it was easily arranged.”

Rouletabille was eating away now at strange viands that it would have been difficult for him to name.  Matrena Petrovna laid her fat little hand on his arm: 

“You speak seriously?”

“Very seriously.”

“A small glass of vodka?”

“No alcohol.”

Madame Matrena emptied her little glass at a draught.

“And how did you discover him?  How did you know him?”

“First, he wore glasses.  All Nihilists wear glasses when traveling.  And then I had a good clew.  A minute before the departure from Paris I had a friend go into the corridor of the sleeping-car, a reporter who would do anything I said without even wanting to know why.  I said, ’You call out suddenly and very loud, “Hello, here is Rouletabille."’ So he called, ‘Hello, here is Rouletabille,’ and all those who were in the corridor turned and all those who were already in the compartments came out, excepting the man with the glasses.  Then I was sure about him.”

Madame Trebassof looked at Rouletabile, who turned as red as the comb of a rooster and was rather embarrassed at his fatuity.