The effect was tremendous. Every Russian could be picked out by his staring eyes and pallid face. There was a moment's silence, then a hissing sound as of the breath drawn sharply inward, followed by a murmur hoarse and inhuman, not good to hear. Rosenblatt trembled, started to his feet, vainly tried to speak. His lips refused to frame words, and he sank back speechless.
"What the deuce was he saying?" enquired O'Hara of the Interpreter after the judge had pronounced his solemn sentence.
"He was putting to them," said the Interpreter in an awed whisper, "the Nihilist oath of death."
"By Jove! Good thing the judge didn't understand. The bloody fool would have spoiled all my fine work. He would have got a life term instead of fourteen years. He's got enough, though, poor chap. I wish to Heaven the other fellow had got it."
As the prisoner turned with the officer to leave the dock, a wild sobbing fell upon his ear. It was Paulina. Kalmar turned to the judge.
"Is it permitted that I see my children before—before I depart?"
"Certainly," said the judge quickly. "Your wife and children and your friends may visit you at a convenient hour to-morrow."
Kalmar bowed with grave courtesy and walked away.
Beside the sobbing Paulina sat the children, pale and bewildered.
"Where is my father going?" asked the boy in Russian.