He heard the sudden, eager movement toward the door of his cell, and squared himself against the opposite wall, ready to fight to the death.

Then there came a voice that he recognised.
A woman was addressing the rabid conspirators in tones of deadly earnestness.

His heart gave a bound.

It was the first time since his incarceration that he had heard the voice of Olga Platanova, she who had warned him, she who still must be his friend.

Once more he threw himself to the floor and glued his ear to the crack; her voice had not the strident qualities of the other women in this lovely company.
"You are not to do this thing," she was saying.