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diff --git a/1686-0.txt b/1686-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..35c5ba1 --- /dev/null +++ b/1686-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11741 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secret of the Night, by Gaston Leroux + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Secret of the Night + +Author: Gaston Leroux + +Posting Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #1686] +Release Date: March, 1999 +[Last updated: September 12, 2017] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + + + + + +THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT + +By Gaston Leroux + + + + +CONTENTS + +Chapter + + I GAYETY AND DYNAMITE + II NATACHA + III THE WATCH + IV “THE YOUTH OF Moscow Is DEAD” + V BY ROULETABILLE’S ORDER THE GENERAL PROMENADES + VI THE MYSTERIOUS HAND + VII ARSENATE OF SODA + VIII THE LITTLE CHAPEL OF THE GUARDS + IX ANNOUCHEA + X A DRAMA IN THE NIGHT + XI THE POISON CONTINUES + XII PERE ALEXIS + XIII THE LIVING BOMBS + XIV THE MARSHES + XV “I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU” + XVI BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL + XVII THE LAST CRAVAT + XVIII A SINGULAR EXPERIENCE + XIX THE TSAR + + + + +THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT + + + + +I. GAYETY AND DYNAMITE + + +“BARINIA, the young stranger has arrived.” + +“Where is he?” + +“Oh, he is waiting at the lodge.” + +“I told you to show him to Natacha’s sitting-room. Didn’t you understand +me, Ermolai?” + +“Pardon, Barinia, but the young stranger, when I asked to search him, as +you directed, flatly refused to let me.” + +“Did you explain to him that everybody is searched before being allowed +to enter, that it is the order, and that even my mother herself has +submitted to it?” + +“I told him all that, Barinia; and I told him about madame your mother.” + +“What did he say to that?” + +“That he was not madame your mother. He acted angry.” + +“Well, let him come in without being searched.” + +“The Chief of Police won’t like it.” + +“Do as I say.” + +Ermolai bowed and returned to the garden. The “barinia” left the +veranda, where she had come for this conversation with the old servant +of General Trebassof, her husband, and returned to the dining-room +in the datcha des Iles, where the gay Councilor Ivan Petrovitch was +regaling his amused associates with his latest exploit at Cubat’s +resort. They were a noisy company, and certainly the quietest among them +was not the general, who nursed on a sofa the leg which still held him +captive after the recent attack, that to his old coachman and his two +piebald horses had proved fatal. The story of the always-amiable Ivan +Petrovitch (a lively, little, elderly man with his head bald as an +egg) was about the evening before. After having, as he said, “recure +la bouche” for these gentlemen spoke French like their own language +and used it among themselves to keep their servants from +understanding--after having wet his whistle with a large glass of +sparkling rosy French wine, he cried: + +“You would have laughed, Feodor Feodorovitch. We had sung songs on the +Barque* and then the Bohemians left with their music and we went out +onto the river-bank to stretch our legs and cool our faces in the +freshness of the dawn, when a company of Cossacks of the Guard came +along. I knew the officer in command and invited him to come along with +us and drink the Emperor’s health at Cubat’s place. That officer, Feodor +Feodorovitch, is a man who knows vintages and boasts that he has never +swallowed a glass of anything so common as Crimean wine. When I named +champagne he cried, ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ A true patriot. So we started, +merry as school-children. The entire company followed, then all the +diners playing little whistles, and all the servants besides, single +file. At Cubat’s I hated to leave the companion-officers of my friend at +the door, so I invited them in, too. They accepted, naturally. But the +subalterns were thirsty as well. I understand discipline. You know, +Feodor Feodorovitch, that I am a stickler for discipline. Just because +one is gay of a spring morning, discipline should not be forgotten. I +invited the officers to drink in a private room, and sent the subalterns +into the main hall of the restaurant. Then the soldiers were thirsty, +too, and I had drinks served to them out in the courtyard. Then, my +word, there was a perplexing business, for now the horses whinnied. The +brave horses, Feodor Feodorovitch, who also wished to drink the health +of the Emperor. I was bothered about the discipline. Hall, court, all +were full. And I could not put the horses in private rooms. Well, I made +them carry out champagne in pails and then came the perplexing business +I had tried so hard to avoid, a grand mixture of boots and horse-shoes +that was certainly the liveliest thing I have ever seen in my life. But +the horses were the most joyous, and danced as if a torch was held under +their nostrils, and all of them, my word! were ready to throw their +riders because the men were not of the same mind with them as to the +route to follow! From our window we laughed fit to kill at such a +mixture of sprawling boots and dancing hoofs. But the troopers finally +got all their horses to barracks, with patience, for the Emperor’s +cavalry are the best riders in the world, Feodor Feodorovitch. And we +certainly had a great laugh!--Your health, Matrena Petrovna.” + + [* The “Barque” is a restaurant on a boat, among the isles, + near the Gulf of Finland, on a bank of the Neva.] + +These last graceful words were addressed to Madame Trebassof, who +shrugged her shoulders at the undesired gallantry of the gay Councilor. +She did not join in the conversation, excepting to calm the general, who +wished to send the whole regiment to the guard-house, men and horses. +And while the roisterers laughed over the adventure she said to her +husband in the advisory voice of the helpful wife: + +“Feodor, you must not attach importance to what that old fool Ivan +tells you. He is the most imaginative man in the capital when he has had +champagne.” + +“Ivan, you certainly have not had horses served with champagne in +pails,” the old boaster, Athanase Georgevitch, protested jealously. He +was an advocate, well-known for his table-feats, who claimed the hardest +drinking reputation of any man in the capital, and he regretted not to +have invented that tale. + +“On my word! And the best brands! I had won four thousand roubles. I +left the little fete with fifteen kopecks.” + +Matrena Petrovna was listening to Ermolai, the faithful country servant +who wore always, even here in the city, his habit of fresh nankeen, his +black leather belt, his large blue pantaloons and his boots glistening +like ice, his country costume in his master’s city home. Madame Matrena +rose, after lightly stroking the hair of her step-daughter Natacha, +whose eyes followed her to the door, indifferent apparently to the +tender manifestations of her father’s orderly, the soldier-poet, Boris +Mourazoff, who had written beautiful verses on the death of the +Moscow students, after having shot them, in the way of duty, on their +barricades. + +Ermolai conducted his mistress to the drawing-room and pointed across +to a door that he had left open, which led to the sitting-room before +Natacha’s chamber. + +“He is there,” said Ermolai in a low voice. + +Ermolai need have said nothing, for that matter, since Madame +Matrena was aware of a stranger’s presence in the sitting-room by the +extraordinary attitude of an individual in a maroon frock-coat bordered +with false astrakhan, such as is on the coats of all the Russian police +agents and makes the secret agents recognizable at first glance. This +policeman was on his knees in the drawing-room watching what passed in +the next room through the narrow space of light in the hinge-way of the +door. In this manner, or some other, all persons who wished to approach +General Trebassof were kept under observation without their knowing it, +after having been first searched at the lodge, a measure adopted since +the latest attack. + +Madame Matrena touched the policeman’s shoulder with that heroic hand +which had saved her husband’s life and which still bore traces of the +terrible explosion in the last attack, when she had seized the infernal +machine intended for the general with her bare hand. The policeman rose +and silently left the room, reached the veranda and lounged there on a +sofa, pretending to be asleep, but in reality watching the garden paths. + +Matrena Petrovna took his place at the hinge-vent. This was her rule; +she always took the final glance at everything and everybody. She +roved at all hours of the day and night round about the general, like a +watch-dog, ready to bite, to throw itself before the danger, to receive +the blows, to perish for its master. This had commenced at Moscow after +the terrible repression, the massacre of revolutionaries under the walls +of Presnia, when the surviving Nihilists left behind them a placard +condemning the victorious General Trebassof to death. Matrena Petrovna +lived only for the general. She had vowed that she would not survive +him. So she had double reason to guard him. + +But she had lost all confidence even within the walls of her own home. + +Things had happened even there that defied her caution, her instinct, +her love. She had not spoken of these things save to the Chief of +Police, Koupriane, who had reported them to the Emperor. And here now +was the man whom the Emperor had sent, as the supreme resource, this +young stranger--Joseph Rouletabille, reporter. + +“But he is a mere boy!” she exclaimed, without at all understanding the +matter, this youthful figure, with soft, rounded cheeks, eyes clear and, +at first view, extraordinarily naive, the eyes of an infant. True, at +the moment Rouletabille’s expression hardly suggested any superhuman +profundity of thought, for, left in view of a table, spread with +hors-d’oeuvres, the young man appeared solely occupied in digging out +with a spoon all the caviare that remained in the jars. Matrena noted +the rosy freshness of his cheeks, the absence of down on his lip and not +a hint of beard, the thick hair, with the curl over the forehead. Ah, +that forehead--the forehead was curious, with great over-hanging cranial +lumps which moved above the deep arcade of the eye-sockets while the +mouth was busy--well, one would have said that Rouletabille had not +eaten for a week. He was demolishing a great slice of Volgan sturgeon, +contemplating at the same time with immense interest a salad of creamed +cucumbers, when Matrena Petrovna appeared. + +He wished to excuse himself at once and spoke with his mouth full. + +“I beg your pardon, madame, but the Czar forgot to invite me to +breakfast.” + +Madame Matrena smiled and gave him a hearty handshake as she urged him +to be seated. + +“You have seen His Majesty?” + +“I come from him, madame. It is to Madame Trebassof that I have the +honor of speaking?” + +“Yes. And you are Monsieur--?” + +“Joseph Rouletabille, madame. I do not add, ‘At your service--because +I do not know about that yet. That is what I said just now to His +Majesty.” + +“Then?” asked Madame Matrena, rather amused by the tone the conversation +had taken and the slightly flurried air of Rouletabille. + +“Why, then, I am a reporter, you see. That is what I said at once to my +editor in Paris, ‘I am not going to take part in revolutionary affairs +that do not concern my country,’ to which my editor replied, ‘You do +not have to take part. You must go to Russia to make an inquiry into +the present status of the different parties. You will commence by +interviewing the Emperor.’ I said, ‘Well, then, here goes,’ and took the +train.” + +“And you have interviewed the Emperor?” + +“Oh, yes, that has not been difficult. I expected to arrive direct +at St. Petersburg, but at Krasnoie-Coelo the train stopped and the +grand-marshal of the court came to me and asked me to follow him. It +was very flattering. Twenty minutes later I was before His Majesty. He +awaited me! I understood at once that this was obviously for something +out of the ordinary.” + +“And what did he say to you?” + +“He is a man of genuine majesty. He reassured me at once when I +explained my scruples to him. He said there was no occasion for me to +take part in the politics of the matter, but to save his most faithful +servant, who was on the point of becoming the victim of the strangest +family drama ever conceived.” + +Madame Matrena, white as a sheet, rose to her feet. + +“Ah,” she said simply. + +But Rouletabille, whom nothing escaped, saw her hand tremble on the back +of the chair. + +He went on, not appearing to have noticed her emotion: + +“His Majesty added these exact words: ‘It is I who ask it of you; I and +Madame Trebassof. Go, monsieur, she awaits you.’” + +He ceased and waited for Madame Trebassof to speak. + +She made up her mind after brief reflection. + +“Have you seen Koupriane?” + +“The Chief of Police? Yes. The grand-marshal accompanied me back to the +station at Krasnoie-Coelo, and the Chief of Police accompanied me to St. +Petersburg station. One could not have been better received.” + +“Monsieur Rouletabille,” said Matrena, who visibly strove to regain her +self-control, “I am not of Koupriane’s opinion and I am not”--here she +lowered her trembling voice--“of the opinion His Majesty holds. It +is better for me to tell you at once, so that you may not +regret intervening in an affair where there are--where there +are--risks--terrible risks to run. No, this is not a family drama. The +family is small, very small: the general, his daughter Natacha (by his +former marriage), and myself. There could not be a family drama among +us three. It is simply about my husband, monsieur, who did his duty as +a soldier in defending the throne of his sovereign, my husband whom they +mean to assassinate! There is nothing else, no other situation, my dear +little guest.” + +To hide her distress she started to carve a slice of jellied veal and +carrot. + +“You have not eaten, you are hungry. It is dreadful, my dear young man. +See, you must dine with us, and then--you will say adieu. Yes, you will +leave me all alone. I will undertake to save him all alone. Certainly, I +will undertake it.” + +A tear fell on the slice she was cutting. Rouletabille, who felt the +brave woman’s emotion affecting him also, braced himself to keep from +showing it. + +“I am able to help you a little all the same,” he said. “Monsieur +Koupriane has told me that there is a deep mystery. It is my vocation to +get to the bottom of mysteries.” + +“I know what Koupriane thinks,” she said, shaking her head. “But if +I could bring myself to think that for a single day I would rather be +dead.” + +The good Matrena Petrovna lifted her beautiful eyes to Rouletabille, +brimming with the tears she held back. + +She added quickly: + +“But eat now, my dear guest; eat. My dear child, you must forget what +Koupriane has said to you, when you are back in France.” + +“I promise you that, madame.” + +“It is the Emperor who has caused you this long journey. For me, I +did not wish it. Has he, indeed, so much confidence in you?” she asked +naively, gazing at him fixedly through her tears. + +“Madame, I was just about to tell you. I have been active in some +important matters that have been reported to him, and then sometimes +your Emperor is allowed to see the papers. He has heard talk, too (for +everybody talked of them, madame), about the Mystery of the Yellow Room +and the Perfume of the Lady in Black.” + +Here Rouletabille watched Madame Trebassof and was much mortified at the +undoubted ignorance that showed in her frank face of either the yellow +room or the black perfume. + +“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 Rouletabille, who turned as red as the comb of +a rooster and was rather embarrassed at his fatuity. + +“That deserves a rebuff, I know, madame, but from the moment the Emperor +of all the Russias had desired to see me I could not admit that any mere +man with glasses had not the curiosity to see what I looked like. It +was not natural. As soon as the train was off I sat down by this man and +told him who I thought he was. I was right. He removed his glasses and, +looking me straight in the eyes, said he was glad to have a little talk +with me before anything unfortunate happened. A half-hour later the +entente-cordiale was signed. I gave him to understand that I was coming +here simply on business as a reporter and that there was always time to +check me if I should be indiscreet. At the German frontier he left me to +go on, and returned tranquilly to his nitro-glycerine.” + +“You are a marked man also, my poor boy.” + +“Oh, they have not got us yet.” + +Matrena Petrovna coughed. That _us_ overwhelmed her. With what calmness +this boy that she had not known an hour proposed to share the dangers +of a situation that excited general pity but from which the bravest kept +aloof either from prudence or dismay. + +“Ah, my friend, a little of this fine smoked Hamburg beef?” + +But the young man was already pouring out fresh yellow beer. + +“There,” said he. “Now, madame, I am listening. Tell me first about the +earliest attack.” + +“Now,” said Matrena, “we must go to dinner.” + +Rouletabille looked at her wide-eyed. + +“But, madame, what have I just been doing?” + +Madame Matrena smiled. All these strangers were alike. Because they +had eaten some hors-d’oeuvres, some zakouskis, they imagined their host +would be satisfied. They did not know how to eat. + +“We will go to the dining-room. The general is expecting you. They are +at table.” + +“I understand I am supposed to know him.” + +“Yes, you have met in Paris. It is entirely natural that in passing +through St. Petersburg you should make him a visit. You know him +very well indeed, so well that he opens his home to you. Ah, yes, my +step-daughter also”--she flushed a little--“Natacha believes that her +father knows you.” + +She opened the door of the drawing-room, which they had to cross in +order to reach the dining-room. + +From his present position Rouletabille could see all the corners of +the drawing-room, the veranda, the garden and the entrance lodge at the +gate. In the veranda the man in the maroon frock-coat trimmed with false +astrakhan seemed still to be asleep on the sofa; in one of the corners +of the drawing-room another individual, silent and motionless as a +statue, dressed exactly the same, in a maroon frock-coat with false +astrakhan, stood with his hands behind his back seemingly struck with +general paralysis at the sight of a flaring sunset which illumined as +with a torch the golden spires of Saints Peter and Paul. And in the +garden and before the lodge three others dressed in maroon roved +like souls in pain over the lawn or back and forth at the entrance. +Rouletabille motioned to Madame Matrena, stepped back into the +sitting-room and closed the door. + +“Police?” he asked. + +Matrena Petrovna nodded her head and put her finger to her mouth in a +naive way, as one would caution a child to silence. Rouletabille smiled. + +“How many are there?” + +“Ten, relieved every six hours.” + +“That makes forty unknown men around your house each day.” + +“Not unknown,” she replied. “Police.” + +“Yet, in spite of them, you have had the affair of the bouquet in the +general’s chamber.” + +“No, there were only three then. It is since the affair of the bouquet +that there have been ten.” + +“It hardly matters. It is since these ten that you have had...” + +“What?” she demanded anxiously. + +“You know well--the flooring.” + +“Sh-h-h.” + +She glanced at the door, watching the policeman statuesque before the +setting sun. + +“No one knows that--not even my husband.” + +“So M. Koupriane told me. Then it is you who have arranged for these ten +police-agents?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Well, we will commence now by sending all these police away.” + +Matrena Petrovna grasped his hand, astounded. + +“Surely you don’t think of doing such a thing as that!” + +“Yes. We must know where the blow is coming from. You have four +different groups of people around here--the police, the domestics, your +friends, your family. Get rid of the police first. They must not be +permitted to cross your threshold. They have not been able to protect +you. You have nothing to regret. And if, after they are gone, something +new turns up, we can leave M. Koupriane to conduct the inquiries without +his being preoccupied here at the house.” + +“But you do not know the admirable police of Koupriane. These brave men +have given proof of their devotion.” + +“Madame, if I were face to face with a Nihilist the first thing I would +ask myself about him would be, ‘Is he one of the police?’ The first +thing I ask in the presence of an agent of your police is, ‘Is he not a +Nihilist?’” + +“But they will not wish to go.” + +“Do any of them speak French?” + +“Yes, their sergeant, who is out there in the salon.” + +“Pray call him.” + +Madame Trebassof walked into the salon and signaled. The man appeared. +Rouletabille handed him a paper, which the other read. + +“You will gather your men together and quit the villa,” ordered +Rouletabille. “You will return to the police Headguarters. Say to M. +Koupriane that I have commanded this and that I require all police +service around the villa to be suspended until further orders.” + +The man bowed, appeared not to understand, looked at Madame Trebassof +and said to the young man: + +“At your service.” + +He went out. + +“Wait here a moment,” urged Madame Trebassof, who did not know how to +take this abrupt action and whose anxiety was really painful to see. + +She disappeared after the man of the false astrakhan. A few moments +afterwards she returned. She appeared even more agitated. + +“I beg your pardon,” she murmured, “but I cannot let them go like this. +They are much chagrined. They have insisted on knowing where they have +failed in their service. I have appeased them with money.” + +“Yes, and tell me the whole truth, madame. You have directed them not to +go far away, but to remain near the villa so as to watch it as closely +as possible.” + +She reddened. + +“It is true. But they have gone, nevertheless. They had to obey you. +What can that paper be you have shown them?” + +Rouletabille drew out again the billet covered with seals and signs and +cabalistics that he did not understand. Madame Trebassof translated it +aloud: “Order to all officials in surveillance of the Villa Trebassof to +obey the bearer absolutely. Signed: Koupriane.” + +“Is it possible!” murmured Matrena Petrovna. “But Koupriane would never +have given you this paper if he had imagined that you would use it to +dismiss his agents.” + +“Evidently. I have not asked him his advice, madame, you may be sure. +But I will see him to-morrow and he will understand.” + +“Meanwhile, who is going to watch over him?” cried she. + +Rouletabille took her hands again. He saw her suffering, a prey to +anguish almost prostrating. He pitied her. He wished to give her +immediate confidence. + +“We will,” he said. + +She saw his young, clear eyes, so deep, so intelligent, the well-formed +young head, the willing face, all his young ardency for her, and it +reassured her. Rouletabille waited for what she might say. She said +nothing. She took him in her arms and embraced him. + + + + +II. NATACHA + +In the dining-room it was Thaddeus Tchnichnikoff’s turn to tell hunting +stories. He was the greatest timber-merchant in Lithuania. He owned +immense forests and he loved Feodor Feodorovitch* as a brother, for they +had played together all through their childhood, and once he had saved +him from a bear that was just about to crush his skull as one might +knock off a hat. General Trebassof’s father was governor of Courlande at +that time, by the grace of God and the Little Father. Thaddeus, who was +just thirteen years old, killed the bear with a single stroke of his +boar-spear, and just in time. Close ties were knit between the two +families by this occurrence, and though Thaddeus was neither noble-born +nor a soldier, Feodor considered him his brother and felt toward him +as such. Now Thaddeus had become the greatest timber-merchant of the +western provinces, with his own forests and also with his massive body, +his fat, oily face, his bull-neck and his ample paunch. He quitted +everything at once--all his affairs, his family--as soon as he learned +of the first attack, to come and remain by the side of his dear comrade +Feodor. He had done this after each attack, without forgetting one. +He was a faithful friend. But he fretted because they might not go +bear-hunting as in their youth. ‘Where, he would ask, are there any +bears remaining in Courlande, or trees for that matter, what you could +call trees, growing since the days of the grand-dukes of Lithuania, +giant trees that threw their shade right up to the very edge of the +towns? Where were such things nowadays? Thaddeus was very amusing, +for it was he, certainly, who had cut them away tranquilly enough +and watched them vanish in locomotive smoke. It was what was called +Progress. Ah, hunting lost its national character assuredly with tiny +new-growth trees which had not had time to grow. And, besides, one +nowadays had not time for hunting. All the big game was so far away. +Lucky enough if one seized the time to bring down a brace of woodcock +early in the morning. At this point in Thaddeus’s conversation there +was a babble of talk among the convivial gentlemen, for they had all the +time in the world at their disposal and could not see why he should be +so concerned about snatching a little while at morning or evening, or +at midday for that matter. Champagne was flowing like a river when +Rouletabille was brought in by Matrena Petrovna. The general, whose eyes +had been on the door for some time, cried at once, as though responding +to a cue: + +“Ah, my dear Rouletabille! I have been looking for you. Our friends +wrote me you were coming to St. Petersburg.” + + * In this story according to Russian habit General Trebassof + is called alternately by that name or the family name Feodor + Feodorovitch, and Madame Trebassof by that name or her + family name, Matrena Petrovna.--Translator’s Note. + +Rouletabille hurried over to him and they shook hands like friends who +meet after a long separation. The reporter was presented to the company +as a close young friend from Paris whom they had enjoyed so much during +their latest visit to the City of Light. Everybody inquired for the +latest word of Paris as of a dear acquaintance. + +“How is everybody at Maxim’s?” urged the excellent Athanase Georgevitch. + +Thaddeus, too, had been once in Paris and he returned with an +enthusiastic liking for the French demoiselles. + +“Vos gogottes, monsieur,” he said, appearing very amiable and leaning +on each word, with a guttural emphasis such as is common in the western +provinces, “ah, vos gogottes!” + +Matrena Perovna tried to silence him, but Thaddeus insisted on his right +to appreciate the fair sex away from home. He had a turgid, sentimental +wife, always weeping and cramming her religious notions down his throat. + +Of course someone asked Rouletabille what he thought of Russia, but he +had no more than opened his mouth to reply than Athanase Georgevitch +closed it by interrupting: + +“Permettez! Permettez! You others, of the young generation, what do you +know of it? You need to have lived a long time and in all its districts +to appreciate Russia at its true value. Russia, my young sir, is as yet +a closed book to you.” + +“Naturally,” Rouletabille answered, smiling. + +“Well, well, here’s your health! What I would point out to you first of +all is that it is a good buyer of champagne, eh?”--and he gave a huge +grin. “But the hardest drinker I ever knew was born on the banks of the +Seine. Did you know him, Feodor Feodorovitch? Poor Charles Dufour, who +died two years ago at fete of the officers of the Guard. He wagered at +the end of the banquet that he could drink a glassful of champagne to +the health of each man there. There were sixty when you came to count +them. He commenced the round of the table and the affair went splendidly +up to the fifty-eighth man. But at the fifty-ninth--think of the +misfortune!--the champagne ran out! That poor, that charming, that +excellent Charles took up a glass of vin dore which was in the glass +of this fifty-ninth, wished him long life, drained the glass at one +draught, had just time to murmur, ‘Tokay, 1807,’ and fell back dead! Ah, +he knew the brands, my word! and he proved it to his last breath! Peace +to his ashes! They asked what he died of. I knew he died because of the +inappropriate blend of flavors. There should be discipline in all things +and not promiscuous mixing. One more glass of champagne and he would +have been drinking with us this evening. Your health, Matrena Petrovna. +Champagne, Feodor Feodorovitch! Vive la France, monsieur! Natacha, my +child, you must sing something. Boris will accompany you on the guzla. +Your father will enjoy it.” + +All eyes turned toward Natacha as she rose. + +Rouletabille was struck by her serene beauty. That was the first +enthralling impression, an impression so strong it astonished him, the +perfect serenity, the supreme calm, the tranquil harmony of her noble +features. Natacha was twenty. Heavy brown hair circled about er forehead +and was looped about her ears, which were half-concealed. Her profile +was clear-cut; her mouth was strong and revealed between red, firm lips +the even pearliness of her teeth. She was of medium height. In walking +she had the free, light step of the highborn maidens who, in primal +times, pressed the flowers as they passed without crushing them. But all +her true grace seemed to be concentrated in her eyes, which were deep +and of a dark blue. The impression she made upon a beholder was very +complex. And it would have been difficult to say whether the calm which +pervaded every manifestation of her beauty was the result of conscious +control or the most perfect ease. + +She took down the guzla and handed it to Boris, who struck some +plaintive preliminary chords. + +“What shall I sing?” she inquired, raising her father’s hand from the +back of the sofa where he rested and kissing it with filial tenderness. + +“Improvise,” said the general. “Improvise in French, for the sake of our +guest.” + +“Oh, yes,” cried Boris; “improvise as you did the other evening.” + +He immediately struck a minor chord. + +Natacha looked fondly at her father as she sang: + + “When the moment comes that parts us at the close of day, + when the Angel of Sleep covers you with azure wings; + “Oh, may your eyes rest from so many tears, and your oppressed + heart have calm; + “In each moment that we have together, Father dear, let our + souls feel harmony sweet and mystical; + “And when your thoughts may have flown to other worlds, oh, may + my image, at least, nestle within your sleeping eyes.” + +Natacha’s voice was sweet, and the charm of it subtly pervasive. The +words as she uttered them seemed to have all the quality of a prayer and +there were tears in all eyes, excepting those of Michael Korsakoff, the +second orderly, whom Rouletabille appraised as a man with a rough heart +not much open to sentiment. + +“Feodor Feodorovitch,” said this officer, when the young girl’s voice +had faded away into the blending with the last note of the guzla, +“Feodor Feodorovitch is a man and a glorious soldier who is able to +sleep in peace, because he has labored for his country and for his +Czar.” + +“Yes, yes. Labored well! A glorious soldier!” repeated Athanase +Georgevitch and Ivan Petrovitch. “Well may he sleep peacefully.” + +“Natacha sang like an angel,” said Boris, the first orderly, in a +tremulous voice. + +“Like an angel, Boris Nikolaievitch. But why did she speak of his heart +oppressed? I don’t see that General Trebassof has a heart oppressed, for +my part.” Michael Korsakoff spoke roughly as he drained his glass. + +“No, that’s so, isn’t it?” agreed the others. + +“A young girl may wish her father a pleasant sleep, surely!” said +Matrena Petrovna, with a certain good sense. “Natacha has affected us +all, has she not, Feodor?” + +“Yes, she made me weep,” declared the general. “But let us have +champagne to cheer us up. Our young friend here will think we are +chicken-hearted.” + +“Never think that,” said Rouletabille. “Mademoiselle has touched me +deeply as well. She is an artist, really a great artist. And a poet.” + +“He is from Paris; he knows,” said the others. + +And all drank. + +Then they talked about music, with great display of knowledge concerning +things operatic. First one, then another went to the piano and ran +through some motif that the rest hummed a little first, then shouted in +a rousing chorus. Then they drank more, amid a perfect fracas of talk +and laughter. Ivan Petrovitch and Athanase Georgevitch walked across and +kissed the general. Rouletabille saw all around him great children who +amused themselves with unbelievable naivete and who drank in a fashion +more unbelievable still. Matrena Petrovna smoked cigarettes of yellow +tobacco incessantly, rising almost continually to make a hurried +round of the rooms, and after having prompted the servants to greater +watchfulness, sat and looked long at Rouletabille, who did not stir, but +caught every word, every gesture of each one there. Finally, sighing, +she sat down by Feodor and asked how his leg felt. Michael and Natacha, +in a corner, were deep in conversation, and Boris watched them with +obvious impatience, still strumming the guzla. But the thing that struck +Rouletabille’s youthful imagination beyond all else was the mild face of +the general. He had not imagined the terrible Trebassof with so paternal +and sympathetic an expression. The Paris papers had printed redoubtable +pictures of him, more or less authentic, but the arts of photography and +engraving had cut vigorous, rough features of an official--who knew no +pity. Such pictures were in perfect accord with the idea one naturally +had of the dominating figure of the government at Moscow, the man who, +during eight days--the Red Week--had made so many corpses of students +and workmen that the halls of the University and the factories had +opened their doors since in vain. The dead would have had to arise for +those places to be peopled! Days of terrible battle where in one quarter +or another of the city there was naught but massacre or burnings, until +Matrena Petrovna and her step-daughter, Natacha (all the papers told of +it), had fallen on their knees before the general and begged terms for +the last of the revolutionaries, at bay in the Presnia quarter, and had +been refused by him. “War is war,” had been his answer, with irrefutable +logic. “How can you ask mercy for these men who never give it?” Be it +said for the young men of the barricades that they never surrendered, +and equally be it said for Trebassof that he necessarily shot them. +“If I had only myself to consider,” the general had said to a Paris +journalist, “I could have been gentle as a lamb with these unfortunates, +and so I should not now myself be condemned to death. After all, I fail +to see what they reproach me with. I have served my master as a brave +and loyal subject, no more, and, after the fighting, I have let others +ferret out the children that had hidden under their mothers’ skirts. +Everybody talks of the repression of Moscow, but let us speak, my +friend, of the Commune. There was a piece of work I would not have +done, to massacre within a court an unresisting crowd of men, women and +children. I am a rough and faithful soldier of His Majesty, but I am +not a monster, and I have the feelings of a husband and father, my dear +monsieur. Tell your readers that, if you care to, and do not surmise +further about whether I appear to regret being condemned to death.” + +Certainly what stupefied Rouletabille now was this staunch figure of +the condemned man who appeared so tranquilly to enjoy his life. When the +general was not furthering the gayety of his friends he was talking with +his wife and daughter, who adored him and continually fondled him, and +he seemed perfectly happy. With his enormous grizzly mustache, his ruddy +color, his keen, piercing eyes, he looked the typical spoiled father. + +The reporter studied all these widely-different types and made his +observations while pretending to a ravenous appetite, which served, +moreover, to fix him in the good graces of his hosts of the datcha des +Iles. But, in reality, he passed the food to an enormous bull-dog +under the table, in whose good graces he was also thus firmly planting +himself. As Trebassof had prayed his companions to let his young friend +satisfy his ravening hunger in peace, they did not concern themselves to +entertain him. Then, too, the music served to distract attention from +him, and at a moment somewhat later, when Matrena Petrovna turned to +speak to the young man, she was frightened at not seeing him. Where had +he gone? She went out into the veranda and looked. She did not dare to +call. She walked into the grand-salon and saw the reporter just as he +came out of the sitting-room. + +“Where were you?” she inquired. + +“The sitting-room is certainly charming, and decorated exquisitely,” + complimented Rouletabille. “It seems almost a boudoir.” + +“It does serve as a boudoir for my step-daughter, whose bedroom opens +directly from it; you see the door there. It is simply for the present +that the luncheon table is set there, because for some time the police +have pre-empted the veranda.” + +“Is your dog a watch-dog, madame?” asked Rouletabille, caressing the +beast, which had followed him. + +“Khor is faithful and had guarded us well hitherto.” + +“He sleeps now, then?” + +“Yes. Koupriane has him shut in the lodge to keep him from barking +nights. Koupriane fears that if he is out he will devour one of the +police who watch in the garden at night. I wanted him to sleep in the +house, or by his master’s door, or even at the foot of the bed, but +Koupriane said, ‘No, no; no dog. Don’t rely on the dog. Nothing is more +dangerous than to rely on the dog. ‘Since then he has kept Khor locked +up at night. But I do not understand Koupriane’s idea.” + +“Monsieur Koupriane is right,” said the reporter. “Dogs are useful only +against strangers.” + +“Oh,” gasped the poor woman, dropping her eyes. “Koupriane certainly +knows his business; he thinks of everything.” + +“Come,” she added rapidly, as though to hide her disquiet, “do not +go out like that without letting me know. They want you in the +dining-room.” + +“I must have you tell me right now about this attempt.” + +“In the dining-room, in the dining-room. In spite of myself,” she said +in a low voice, “it is stronger than I am. I am not able to leave the +general by himself while he is on the ground-floor.” + +She drew Rouletabille into the dining-room, where the gentlemen were now +telling odd stories of street robberies amid loud laughter. Natacha was +still talking with Michael Korsakoff; Boris, whose eyes never quitted +them, was as pale as the wax on his guzla, which he rattled violently +from time to time. Matrena made Rouletabille sit in a corner of the +sofa, near her, and, counting on her fingers like a careful housewife +who does not wish to overlook anything in her domestic calculations, she +said: + +“There have been three attempts; the first two in Moscow. The first +happened very simply. The general knew he had been condemned to +death. They had delivered to him at the palace in the afternoon the +revoluntionary poster which proclaimed his intended fate to the whole +city and country. So Feodor, who was just about to ride into the city, +dismissed his escort. He ordered horses put to a sleigh. I trembled and +asked what he was going to do. He said he was going to drive quietly +through all parts of the city, in order to show the Muscovites that a +governor appointed according to law by the Little Father and who had in +his conscience only the sense that he had done his full duty was not to +be intimidated. It was nearly four o’clock, toward the end of a winter +day that had been clear and bright, but very cold. I wrapped myself +in my furs and took my seat beside him, and he said, ‘This is fine, +Matrena; this will have a great effect on these imbeciles.’ So we +started. At first we drove along the Naberjnaia. The sleigh glided like +the wind. The general hit the driver a heavy blow in the back, crying, +‘Slower, fool; they will think we are afraid,’ and so the horses +were almost walking when, passing behind the Church of Protection and +intercession, we reached the Place Rouge. Until then the few passers-by +had looked at us, and as they recognized him, hurried along to keep +him in view. At the Place Rouge there was only a little knot of women +kneeling before the Virgin. As soon as these women saw us and recognized +the equipage of the Governor, they dispersed like a flock of crows, with +frightened cries. Feodor laughed so hard that as we passed under +the vault of the Virgin his laugh seemed to shake the stones. I felt +reassured, monsieur. Our promenade continued without any remarkable +incident. The city was almost deserted. Everything lay prostrated under +the awful blow of that battle in the street. Feodor said, ‘Ah, they give +me a wide berth; they do not know how much I love them,” and all through +that promenade he said many more charming and delicate things to me. + +“As we were talking pleasantly under our furs we came to la Place +Koudrinsky, la rue Koudrinsky, to be exact. It was just four o’clock, +and a light mist had commenced to mix with the sifting snow, and the +houses to right and left were visible only as masses of shadow. We +glided over the snow like a boat along the river in foggy calm. Then, +suddenly, we heard piercing cries and saw shadows of soldiers rushing +around, with movements that looked larger than human through the mist; +their short whips looked enormous as they knocked some other shadows +that we saw down like logs. The general stopped the sleigh and got out +to see what was going on. I got out with him. They were soldiers of the +famous Semenowsky regiment, who had two prisoners, a young man and a +child. The child was being beaten on the nape of the neck. It writhed +on the ground and cried in torment. It couldn’t have been more than nine +years old. The other, the young man, held himself up and marched +along without a single cry as the thongs fell brutally upon him. I was +appalled. I did not give my husband time to open his mouth before I +called to the subaltern who commanded the detachment, ‘You should be +ashamed to strike a child and a Christian like that, which cannot defend +itself.’ The general told him the same thing. Then the subaltern told +us that the little child had just killed a lieutenant in the street by +firing a revolver, which he showed us, and it was the biggest one I +ever have seen, and must have been as heavy for that infant to lift as a +small cannon. It was unbelievable. + +“‘And the other,’ demanded the general; ‘what has he done?’ + +“‘He is a dangerous student,’ replied the subaltern, ‘who has delivered +himself up as a prisoner because he promised the landlord of the house +where he lives that he would do it to keep the house from being battered +down with cannon.’ + +“‘But that is right of him. Why do you beat him?’ + +“‘Because he has told us he is a dangerous student.’ + +“‘That is no reason,’ Feodor told him. ‘He will be shot if he deserves +it, and the child also, but I forbid you to beat him. You have not been +furnished with these whips in order to beat isolated prisoners, but to +charge the crowd when it does not obey the governor’s orders. In such a +case you are ordered “Charge,” and you know what to do. You understand?’ +Feodor said roughly. ‘I am General Trebassof, your governor.’ + +“Feodor was thoroughly human in saying this. Ah, well, he was badly +compensed for it, very badly, I tell you. The student was truly +dangerous, because he had no sooner heard my husband say, ‘I am General +Trebassof, your governor,’ than he cried, ‘Ah, is it you, Trebassoff’ +and drew a revolver from no one knows where and fired straight at +the general, almost against his breast. But the general was not hit, +happily, nor I either, who was by him and had thrown myself onto the +student to disarm him and then was tossed about at the feet of the +soldiers in the battle they waged around the student while the revolver +was going off. Three soldiers were killed. You can understand that the +others were furious. They raised me with many excuses and, all together, +set to kicking the student in the loins and striking at him as he lay on +the ground. The subaltern struck his face a blow that might have blinded +him. Feodor hit the officer in the head with his fist and called, +‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ The officer fell under the blow and +Feodor himself carried him to the sleigh and laid him with the dead +men. Then he took charge of the soldiers and led them to the barracks. +I followed, as a sort of after-guard. We returned to the palace an hour +later. It was quite dark by then, and almost at the entrance to the +palace we were shot at by a group of revolutionaries who passed swiftly +in two sleighs and disappeared in the darkness so fast that they could +not be overtaken. I had a ball in my toque. The general had not been +touched this time either, but our furs were ruined by the blood of the +dead soldiers which they had forgotten to clean out of the sleigh. That +was the first attempt, which meant little enough, after all, because it +was fighting in the open. It was some days later that they commenced to +try assassination.” + +At this moment Ermolai brought in four bottles of champagne and Thaddeus +struck lightly on the piano. + +“Quickly, madame, the second attempt,” said Rouletabille, who was +aking hasty notes on his cuff, never ceasing, meanwhile, to watch the +convivial group and listening with both ears wide open to Matrena. + +“The second happened still in Moscow. We had had a jolly dinner because +we thought that at last the good old days were back and good citizens +could live in peace; and Boris had tried out the guzla singing songs of +the Orel country to please me; he is so fine and sympathetic. Natacha +had gone somewhere or other. The sleigh was waiting at the door and we +went out and got in. Almost instantly there was a fearful noise, and we +were thrown out into the snow, both the general and me. There remained +no trace of sleigh or coachman; the two horses were disemboweled, two +magnificent piebald horses, my dear young monsieur, that the general +was so attached to. As to Feodor, he had that serious wound in his right +leg; the calf was shattered. I simply had my shoulder a little wrenched, +practically nothing. The bomb had been placed under the seat of the +unhappy coachman, whose hat alone we found, in a pool of blood. From +that attack the general lay two months in bed. In the second month they +arrested two servants who were caught one night on the landing leading +to the upper floor, where they had no business, and after that I sent +at once for our old domestics in Orel to come and serve us. It +was discovered that these detected servants were in touch with +the revolutionaries, so they were hanged. The Emperor appointed a +provisional governor, and now that the general was better we decided +on a convalescence for him in the midi of France. We took train for +St. Petersburg, but the journey started high fever in my husband and +reopened the wound in his calf. The doctors ordered absolute rest and so +we settled here in the datcha des Iles. Since then, not a day has passed +without the general receiving an anonymous letter telling him that +nothing can save him from the revenge of the revolutionaries. He is +brave and only smiles over them, but for me, I know well that so long as +we are in Russia we have not a moment’s security. So I watch him every +minute and let no one approach him except his intimate friends and us +of the family. I have brought an old gniagnia who watched me grow up, +Ermolai, and the Orel servants. In the meantime, two months later, the +third attempt suddenly occurred. It is certainly of them all the most +frightening, because it is so mysterious, a mystery that has not yet, +alas, been solved.” + +But Athanase Georgevitch had told a “good story” which raised so much +hubbub that nothing else could be heard. Feodor Feodorovitch was so +amused that he had tears in his eyes. Rouletabille said to himself +as Matrena talked, “I never have seen men so gay, and yet they know +perfectly they are apt to be blown up all together any moment.” + +General Trebassof, who had steadily watched Rouletabille, who, for that +matter, had been kept in eye by everyone there, said: + +“Eh, eh, monsieur le journaliste, you find us very gay?” + +“I find you very brave,” said Rouletabille quietly. + +“How is that?” said Feodor Feodorovitch, smiling. + +“You must pardon me for thinking of the things that you seem to have +forgotten entirely.” + +He indicated the general’s wounded leg. + +“The chances of war! the chances of war!” said the general. “A leg here, +an arm there. But, as you see, I am still here. They will end by growing +tired and leaving me in peace. Your health, my friend!” + +“Your health, general!” + +“You understand,” continued Feodor Feodorovitch, “there is no occasion +to excite ourselves. It is our business to defend the empire at the +peril of our lives. We find that quite natural, and there is no occasion +to think of it. I have had terrors enough in other directions, not to +speak of the terrors of love, that are more ferocious than you can +yet imagine. Look at what they did to my poor friend the Chief of the +Surete, Boichlikoff. He was commendable certainly. There was a brave +man. Of an evening, when his work was over, he always left the bureau of +the prefecture and went to join his wife and children in their apartment +in the ruelle des Loups. Not a soldier! No guard! The others had every +chance. One evening a score of revolutionaries, after having driven away +the terrorized servants, mounted to his apartments. He was dining with +his family. They knocked and he opened the door. He saw who they were, +and tried to speak. They gave him no time. Before his wife and children, +mad with terror and on their knees before the revolutionaries, they read +him his death-sentence. A fine end that to a dinner!” + +As he listened Rouletabille paled and he kept his eyes on the door as +if he expected to see it open of itself, giving access to ferocious +Nihilists of whom one, with a paper in his hand, would read the sentence +of death to Feodor Feodorovitch. Rouletabille’s stomach was not yet +seasoned to such stories. He almost regretted, momentarily, having +taken the terrible responsibility of dismissing the police. After what +Koupriane had confided to him of things that had happened in this house, +he had not hesitated to risk everything on that audacious decision, but +all the same, all the same--these stories of Nihilists who appear at the +end of a meal, death-sentence in hand, they haunted him, they upset him. +Certainly it had been a piece of foolhardiness to dismiss the police! + +“Well,” he asked, conquering his misgivings and resuming, as always, his +confidence in himself, “then, what did they do then, after reading the +sentence?” + +“The Chief of the Surete knew he had no time to spare. He did not ask +for it. The revolutionaries ordered him to bid his family farewell. +He raised his wife, his children, clasped them, bade them be of good +courage, then said he was ready. They took him into the street. They +stood him against a wall. His wife and children watched from a window. +A volley sounded. They descended to secure the body, pierced with +twenty-five bullets.” + +“That was exactly the number of wounds that were made on the body of +little Jacques Zloriksky,” came in the even tones of Natacha. + +“Oh, you, you always find an excuse,” grumbled the general. “Poor +Boichlikoff did his duty, as I did mine. + +“Yes, papa, you acted like a soldier. That is what the revolutionaries +ought not to forget. But have no fears for us, papa; because if they +kill you we will all die with you.” + +“And gayly too,” declared Athanase Georgevitch. + +“They should come this evening. We are in form!” + +Upon which Athanase filled the glasses again. + +“None the less, permit me to say,” ventured the timber-merchant, +Thaddeus Tchnitchnikof, timidly, “permit me to say that this Boichlikoff +was very imprudent.” + +“Yes, indeed, very gravely imprudent,” agreed Rouletabille. “When a man +has had twenty-five good bullets shot into the body of a child, he ought +certainly to keep his home well guarded if he wishes to dine in peace.” + +He stammered a little toward the end of this, because it occurred to him +that it was a little inconsistent to express such opinions, seeing what +he had done with the guard over the general. + +“Ah,” cried Athanase Georgevitch, in a stage-struck voice, “Ah, it was +not imprudence! It was contempt of death! Yes, it was contempt of death +that killed him! Even as the contempt of death keeps us, at this moment, +in perfect health. To you, ladies and gentlemen! Do you know anything +lovelier, grander, in the world than contempt of death? Gaze on Feodor +Feodorovitch and answer me. Superb! My word, superb! To you all! The +revolutionaries who are not of the police are of the same mind regarding +our heroes. They may curse the tchinownicks who execute the terrible +orders given them by those higher up, but those who are not of the +police (there are some, I believe)--these surely recognize that men like +the Chief of the Surete our dead friend, are brave.” + +“Certainly,” endorsed the general. “Counting all things, they need more +heroism for a promenade in a salon than a soldier on a battle-field.” + +“I have met some of these men,” continued Athanase in exalted vein. “I +have found in all their homes the same--imprudence, as our young French +friend calls it. A few days after the assassination of the Chief of +Police in Moscow I was received by his successor in the same place where +the assassination had occurred. He did not take the slightest precaution +with me, whom he did not know at all, nor with men of the middle class +who came to present their petitions, in spite of the fact that it was +under precisely identical conditions that his predecessor had been +slain. Before I left I looked over to where on the floor there had so +recently occurred such agony. They had placed a rug there and on the rug +a table, and on that table there was a book. Guess what book. ‘Women’s +Stockings,’ by Willy! And--and then--Your health, Matrena Petrovna. +What’s the odds!” + +“You yourselves, my friends,” declared the general, “prove your great +courage by coming to share the hours that remain of my life with me.” + +“Not at all, not at all! It is war.” + +“Yes, it is war.” + +“Oh, there’s no occasion to pat us on the shoulder, Athanase,” insisted +Thaddeus modestly. “What risk do we run? We are well guarded.” + +“We are protected by the finger of God,” declared Athanase, “because the +police--well, I haven’t any confidence in the police.” + +Michael Korsakoff, who had been for a turn in the garden, entered during +the remark. + +“Be happy, then, Athanase Georgevitch,” said he, “for there are now no +police around the villa.” + +“Where are they?” inquired the timber-merchant uneasily. + +“An order came from Koupriane to remove them,” explained Matrena +Petrovna, who exerted herself to appear calm. + +“And are they not replaced?” asked Michael. + +“No. It is incomprehensible. There must have been some confusion in the +orders given.” And Matrena reddened, for she loathed a lie and it was +in tribulation of spirit that she used this fable under Rouletabille’s +directions. + +“Oh, well, all the better,” said the general. “It will give me pleasure +to see my home ridded for a while of such people.” + +Athanase was naturally of the same mind as the general, and when +Thaddeus and Ivan Petrovitch and the orderlies offered to pass the +night at the villa and take the place of the absent police, Feodor +Feodorovitch caught a gesture from Rouletabille which disapproved the +idea of this new guard. + +“No, no,” cried the general emphatically. “You leave at the usual time. +I want now to get back into the ordinary run of things, my word! To +live as everyone else does. We shall be all right. Koupriane and I have +arranged the matter. Koupriane is less sure of his men, after all, +than I am of my servants. You understand me. I do not need to explain +further. You will go home to bed--and we will all sleep. Those are the +orders. Besides, you must remember that the guard-post is only a step +from here, at the corner of the road, and we have only to give a signal +to bring them all here. But--more secret agents or special police--no, +no! Good-night. All of us to bed now!” + +They did not insist further. When Feodor had said, “Those are the +orders,” there was room for nothing more, not even in the way of polite +insistence. + +But before going to their beds all went into the veranda, where +liqueurs were served by the brave Ermolai, as always. Matrena pushed +the wheel-chair of the general there, and he kept repeating, “No, no. No +more such people. No more police. They only bring trouble.” + +“Feodor! Feodor!” sighed Matrena, whose anxiety deepened in spite of all +she could do, “they watched over your dear life.” + +“Life is dear to me only because of you, Matrena Petrovna.” + +“And not at all because of me, papa?” said Natacha. + +“Oh, Natacha!” + +He took both her hands in his. It was an affecting glimpse of family +intimacy. + +From time to time, while Ermolai poured the liqueurs, Feodor struck his +band on the coverings over his leg. + +“It gets better,” said he. “It gets better.” + +Then melancholy showed in his rugged face, and he watched night deepen +over the isles, the golden night of St. Petersburg. It was not quite yet +the time of year for what they call the golden nights there, the “white +nights,” nights which never deepen to darkness, but they were already +beautiful in their soft clarity, caressed, here by the Gulf of Finland, +almost at the same time by the last and the first rays of the sun, by +twilight and dawn. + +From the height of the veranda one of the most beautiful bits of the +isles lay in view, and the hour was so lovely that its charm thrilled +these people, of whom several, as Thaddeus, were still close to nature. +It was he, first, who called to Natacha: + +“Natacha! Natacha! Sing us your ‘Soir des Iles.’” + +Natacha’s voice floated out upon the peace of the islands under the +dim arched sky, light and clear as a night rose, and the guzla of Boris +accompanied it. Natacha sang: + +“This is the night of the Isles--at the north of the world. The sky +presses in its stainless arms the bosom of earth, Night kisses the rose +that dawn gave to the twilight. And the night air is sweet and fresh +from across the shivering gulf, Like the breath of young girls from the +world still farther north. Beneath the two lighted horizons, sinking and +rising at once, The sun rolls rebounding from the gods at the north of +the world. In this moment, beloved, when in the clear shadows of this +rose-stained evening I am here alone with you, Respond, respond with a +heart less timid to the holy, accustomed cry of ‘Good-evening.’” + +Ah, how Boris Nikolaievitch and Michael Korsakoff watched her as she +sang! Truly, no one ever can guess the anger or the love that broods in +a Slavic heart under a soldier’s tunic, whether the soldier wisely plays +at the guzla, as the correct Boris, or merely lounges, twirling his +mustache with his manicured and perfumed fingers, like Michael, the +indifferent. + +Natacha ceased singing, but all seemed to be listening to her still--the +convivial group on the terrace appeared to be held in charmed attention, +and the porcelain statuettes of men on the lawn, according to the mode +of the Iles, seemed to lift on their short legs the better to hear pass +the sighing harmony of Natacha in the rose nights at the north of the +world. + +Meanwhile Matrena wandered through the house from cellar to attic, +watching over her husband like a dog on guard, ready to bite, to throw +itself in the way of danger, to receive the blows, to die for its +master--and hunting for Rouletabille, who had disappeared again. + + + + +III. THE WATCH + +She went out to caution the servants to a strict watch, armed to the +teeth, before the gate all night long, and she crossed the deserted +garden. Under the veranda the schwitzar was spreading a mattress for +Ermolai. She asked him if he had seen the young Frenchman anywhere, and +after the answer, could only say to herself, “Where is he, then?” Where +had Rouletabille gone? The general, whom she had carried up to his +room on her back, without any help, and had helped into bed without +assistance, was disturbed by this singular disappearance. Had someone +already carried off “their” Rouletabille? Their friends were gone and +the orderlies had taken leave without being able to say where this boy +of a journalist had gone. But it would be foolish to worry about the +disappearance of a Journalist, they had said. That kind of man--these +journalists--came, went, arrived when one least expected them, and +quitted their company--even the highest society--without formality. It +was what they called in France “leaving English fashion.” However, +it appeared it was not meant to be impolite. Perhaps he had gone to +telegraph. A journalist had to keep in touch with the telegraph at all +hours. Poor Matrena Petrovna roamed the solitary garden in tumult of +heart. There was the light in the general’s window on the first floor. +There were lights in the basement from the kitchens. There was a light +on the ground-floor near the sitting-room, from Natacha’s chamber +window. Ah, the night was hard to bear. And this night the shadows +weighed heavier than ever on the valiant breast of Matrena. As she +breathed she felt as though she lifted all the weight of the threatening +night. She examined everything--everything. All was shut tight, was +perfectly secure, and there was no one within excepting people she was +absolutely sure of--but whom, all the same, she did not allow to go +anywhere in the house excepting where their work called them. Each in +his place. That made things surer. She wished each one could remain +fixed like the porcelain statues of men out on the lawn. Even as she +thought it, here at her feet, right at her very feet, a shadow of one +of the porcelain men moved, stretched itself out, rose to its knees, +grasped her skirt and spoke in the voice of Rouletabille. Ah, good! it +was Rouletabille. “Himself, dear madame; himself.” + +“Why is Ermolai in the veranda? Send him back to the kitchens and tell +the schwitzar to go to bed. The servants are enough for an ordinary +guard outside. Then you go in at once, shut the door, and don’t concern +yourself about me, dear madame. Good-night.” + +Rouletabille had resumed, in the shadows, among the other porcelain +figures, his pose of a porcelain man. + +Matrena Petrovna did as she was told, returned to the house, spoke to +the schwitzar, who removed to the lodge with Ermolai, and their mistress +closed the outside door. She had closed long before the door of the +kitchen stair which allowed the domestics to enter the villa from below. +Down there each night the devoted gniagnia and the faithful Ermolai +watched in turn. + +Within the villa, now closed, there were on the ground-floor only +Matrena herself and her step-daughter Natacha, who slept in the chamber +off the sitting-room, and, above on the first floor, the general asleep, +or who ought to be asleep if he had taken his potion. Matrena remained +in the darkness of the drawing-room, her dark-lantern in her hand. +All her nights passed thus, gliding from door to door, from chamber to +chamber, watching over the watch of the police, not daring to stop her +stealthy promenade even to throw herself on the mattress that she had +placed across the doorway of her husband’s chamber. Did she ever sleep? +She herself could hardly say. Who else could, then? A tag of sleep here +and there, over the arm of a chair, or leaning against the wall, waked +always by some noise that she heard or dreamed, some warning, perhaps, +that she alone had heard. And to-night, to-night there is Rouletabille’s +alert guard to help her, and she feels a little less the aching terror +of watchfulness, until there surges back into her mind the recollection +that the police are no longer there. Was he right, this young man? +Certainly she could not deny that some way she feels more confidence now +that the police are gone. She does not have to spend her time watching +their shadows in the shadows, searching the darkness, the arm-chairs, +the sofas, to rouse them, to appeal in low tones to all they held +binding, by their own name and the name of their father, to promise them +a bonus that would amount to something if they watched well, to count +them in order to know where they all were, and, suddenly, to throw full +in their face the ray of light from her little dark-lantern in order to +be sure, absolutely sure, that she was face to face with them, one of +the police, and not with some other, some other with an infernal machine +under his arm. Yes, she surely had less work now that she had no longer +to watch the police. And she had less fear! + +She thanked the young reporter for that. Where was he? Did he remain in +the pose of a porcelain statue all this time out there on the lawn? She +peered through the lattice of the veranda shutters and looked anxiously +out into the darkened garden. Where could he be? Was that he, down +yonder, that crouching black heap with an unlighted pipe in his mouth? +No, no. That, she knew well, was the dwarf she genuinely loved, her +little domovoi-doukh, the familiar spirit of the house, who watched with +her over the general’s life and thanks to whom serious injury had not +yet befallen Feodor Feodorovitch--one could not regard a mangled leg +that seriously. Ordinarily in her own country (she was from the Orel +district) one did not care to see the domovoi-doukh appear in flesh and +blood. When she was little she was always afraid that she would come +upon him around a turn of the path in her father’s garden. She always +thought of him as no higher than that, seated back on his haunches and +smoking his pipe. Then, after she was married, she had suddenly run +across him at a turning in the bazaar at Moscow. He was just as she +had imagined him, and she had immediately bought him, carried him +home herself and placed him, with many precautions, for he was of very +delicate porcelain, in the vestibule of the palace. And in leaving +Moscow she had been careful not to leave him there. She had carried him +herself in a case and had placed him herself on the lawn of the datcha +des Iles, that he might continue to watch over her happiness and over +the life of her Feodor. And in order that he should not be bored, +eternally smoking his pipe all alone, she had surrounded him with a +group of little porcelain genii, after the fashion of the Jardins des +Iles. Lord! how that young Frenchman had frightened her, rising suddenly +like that, without warning, on the lawn. She had believed for a moment +that it was the domovoi-doukh himself rising to stretch his legs. +Happily he had spoken at once and she had recognized his voice. And +besides, her domovoi surely would not speak French. Ah! Matrena Petrovna +breathed freely now. It seemed to her, this night, that there were two +little familiar genii watching over the house. And that was worth more +than all the police in the world, surely. How wily that little fellow +was to order all those men away. There was something it was necessary +to know; it was necessary therefore that nothing should be in the way +of learning it. As things were now, the mystery could operate without +suspicion or interference. Only one man watched it, and he had not the +air of watching. Certainly Rouletabille had not the air of constantly +watching anything. He had the manner, out in the night, of an easy +little man in porcelain, neither more nor less, yet he could +see everything--if anything were there to see--and he could hear +everything--if there were anything to hear. One passed beside him +without suspecting him, and men might talk to each other without an idea +that he heard them, and even talk to themselves according to the habit +people have sometimes when they think themselves quite alone. All the +guests had departed thus, passing close by him, almost brushing him, +had exchanged their “Adieus,” their “Au revoirs,” and all their final, +drawn-out farewells. That dear little living domovoi certainly was a +rogue! Oh, that dear little domovoi who had been so affected by the +tears of Matrena Petrovna! The good, fat, sentimental, heroic woman +longed to hear, just then, his reassuring voice. + +“It is I. Here I am,” said the voice of her little living familiar +spirit at that instant, and she felt her skirt grasped. She waited +for what he should say. She felt no fear. Yet she had supposed he was +outside the house. Still, after all, she was not too astonished that he +was within. He was so adroit! He had entered behind her, in the shadow +of her skirts, on all-fours, and had slipped away without anyone +noticing him, while she was speaking to her enormous, majestic +schwitzar. + +“So you were here?” she said, taking his hand and pressing it nervously +in hers. + +“Yes, yes. I have watched you closing the house. It is a task well-done, +certainly. You have not forgotten anything.” + +“But where were you, dear little demon? I have been into all the +corners, and my hands did not touch you.” + +“I was under the table set with hors-d’oeuvres in the sitting-room.” + +“Ah, under the table of zakouskis! I have forbidden them before now +to spread a long hanging cloth there, which obliges me to kick my foot +underneath casually in order to be sure there is no one beneath. It is +imprudent, very imprudent, such table-cloths. And under the table of +zakouskis have you been able to see or hear anything?” + +“Madame, do you think that anyone could possibly see or hear anything in +the villa when you are watching it alone, when the general is asleep and +your step-daughter is preparing for bed?” + +“No. No. I do not believe so. I do not. No, oh, Christ!” + +They talked thus very low in the dark, both seated in a corner of the +sofa, Rouletabille’s hand held tightly in the burning hands of Matrena +Petrovna. + +She sighed anxiously. “And in the garden--have you heard anything?” + +“I heard the officer Boris say to the officer Michael, in French, ‘Shall +we return at once to the villa?’ The other replied in Russian in a way I +could see was a refusal. Then they had a discussion in Russian which I, +naturally, could not understand. But from the way they talked I gathered +that they disagreed and that no love was lost between them.” + +“No, they do not love each other. They both love Natacha.” + +“And she, which one of them does she love? It is necessary to tell me.” + +“She pretends that she loves Boris, and I believe she does, and yet she +is very friendly with Michael and often she goes into nooks and corners +to chat with him, which makes Boris mad with jealousy. She has forbidden +Boris to speak to her father about their marriage, on the pretext that +she does not wish to leave her father now, while each day, each minute +the general’s life is in danger.” + +“And you, madame--do you love your step-daughter?” brutally inquired the +reporter. + +“Yes--sincerely,” replied Matrena Petrovna, withdrawing her hand from +those of Rouletabille. + +“And she--does she love you?” + +“I believe so, monsieur, I believe so sincerely. Yes, she loves me, +and there is not any reason why she should not love me. I +believe--understand me thoroughly, because it comes from my heart--that +we all here in this house love one another. Our friends are old proved +friends. Boris has been orderly to my husband for a very long time. +We do not share any of his too-modern ideas, and there were many +discussions on the duty of soldiers at the time of the massacres. I +reproached him with being as womanish as we were in going down on his +knees to the general behind Natacha and me, when it became necessary to +kill all those poor moujiks of Presnia. It was not his role. A soldier +is a soldier. My husband raised him roughly and ordered him, for his +pains, to march at the head of the troops. It was right. What else could +he do? The general already had enough to fight against, with the whole +revolution, with his conscience, with the natural pity in his heart of +a brave man, and with the tears and insupportable moanings, at such a +moment, of his daughter and his wife. Boris understood and obeyed him, +but, after the death of the poor students, he behaved again like a woman +in composing those verses on the heroes of the barricades; don’t you +think so? Verses that Natacha and he learned by heart, working together, +when they were surprised at it by the general. There was a terrible +scene. It was before the next-to-the-last attack. The general then had +the use of both legs. He stamped his feet and fairly shook the house.” + +“Madame,” said Rouletabille, “a propos of the attacks, you must tell me +about the third.” + +As he said this, leaning toward her, Matrena Petrovna ejaculated a +“Listen!” that made him rigid in the night with ear alert. What had she +heard? For him, he had heard nothing. + +“You hear nothing?” she whispered to him with an effort. “A tick-tack?” + +“No, I hear nothing.” + +“You know--like the tick-tack of a clock. Listen.” + +“How can you hear the tick-tack? I’ve noticed that no clocks are running +here.” + +“Don’t you understand? It is so that we shall be able to hear the +tick-tack better.” + +“Oh, yes, I understand. But I do not hear anything.” + +“For myself, I think I hear the tick-tack all the time since the last +attempt. It haunts my ears, it is frightful, to say to one’s self: There +is clockwork somewhere, just about to reach the death-tick--and not to +know where, not to know where! When the police were here I made them +all listen, and I was not sure even when they had all listened and said +there was no tick-tack. It is terrible to hear it in my ear any moment +when I least expect it. Tick-tack! Tick-tack! It is the blood beating +in my ear, for instance, hard, as if it struck on a sounding-board. Why, +here are drops of perspiration on my hands! Listen!” + +“Ah, this time someone is talking--is crying,” said the young man. + +“Sh-h-h!” And Rouletabille felt the rigid hand of Matrena Petrovna on +his arm. “It is the general. The general is dreaming!” + +She drew him into the dining-room, into a corner where they could no +longer hear the moanings. But all the doors that communicated with the +dining-room, the drawing-room and the sitting-room remained open behind +him, by the secret precaution of Rouletabille. + +He waited while Matrena, whose breath he heard come hard, was a little +behind. In a moment, quite talkative, and as though she wished to +distract Rouletabille’s attention from the sounds above, the broken +words and sighs, she continued: + +“See, you speak of clocks. My husband has a watch which strikes. Well, +I have stopped his watch because more than once I have been startled by +hearing the tick-tack of his watch in his waistcoat-pocket. Koupriane +gave me that advice one day when he was here and had pricked his ears +at the noise of the pendulums, to stop all my watches and clocks so that +there would be no chance of confusing them with the tick-tack that might +come from an infernal machine planted in some corner. He spoke from +experience, my dear little monsieur, and it was by his order that all +the clocks at the Ministry, on the Naberjnaia, were stopped, my dear +little friend. The Nihilists, he told me, often use clockworks to set +off their machines at the time they decide on. No one can guess all the +inventions that they have, those brigands. In the same way, Koupriane +advised me to take away all the draught-boards from the fireplaces. By +that precaution they were enabled to avoid a terrible disaster at the +Ministry near the Pont-des-chantres, you know, petit demovoi? They saw a +bomb just as it was being lowered into the fire-place of the minister’s +cabinet.* The Nihilists held it by a cord and were up on the roof +letting it down the chimney. One of them was caught, taken to +Schlusselbourg and hanged. Here you can see that all the +draught-boards of the fireplaces are cleared away.” + + *Actual attack on Witte. + +“Madame,” interrupted Rouletabille (Matrena Petrovna did not know that +no one ever succeeded in distracting Rouletabille’s attention), “madame, +someone moans still, upstairs.” + +“Oh, that is nothing, my little friend. It is the general, who has bad +nights. He cannot sleep without a narcotic, and that gives him a fever. +I am going to tell you now how the third attack came about. And then you +will understand, by the Virgin Mary, how it is I have yet, always have, +the tick-tack in my ears. + +“One evening when the general had got to sleep and I was in my own room, +I heard distinctly the tick-tack of clockwork operating. All the clocks +had been stopped, as Koupriane advised, and I had made an excuse to send +Feodor’s great watch to the repairer. You can understand how I felt +when I heard that tick-tack. I was frenzied. I turned my head in all +directions, and decided that the sound came from my husband’s chamber. I +ran there. He still slept, man that he is! The tick-tack was there. But +where? I turned here and there like a fool. The chamber was in darkness +and it seemed absolutely impossible for me to light a lamp because I +thought I could not take the time for fear the infernal machine would go +off in those few seconds. I threw myself on the floor and listened +under the bed. The noise came from above. But where? I sprang to the +fireplace, hoping that, against my orders, someone had started the +mantel-clock. No, it was not that! It seemed to me now that the +tick-tack came from the bed itself, that the machine was in the bed. The +general awaked just then and cried to me, ‘What is it, Matrena? What are +you doing?’ And he raised himself in bed, while I cried, ‘Listen! Hear +the tick-tack. Don’t you hear the tick-tack?’ I threw myself upon him +and gathered him up in my arms to carry him, but I trembled too much, +was too weak from fear, and fell back with him onto the bed, crying, +‘Help!’ He thrust me away and said roughly, ‘Listen.’ The frightful +tick-tack was behind us now, on the table. But there was nothing on the +table, only the night-light, the glass with the potion in it, and a +gold vase where I had placed with my own hands that morning a cluster +of grasses and wild flowers that Ermolai had brought that morning on his +return from the Orel country. With one bound I was on the table and at +the flowers. I struck my fingers among the grasses and the flowers, and +felt a resistance. The tick-tack was in the bouquet! I took the bouquet +in both hands, opened the window and threw it as far as I could into the +garden. At the same moment the bomb burst with a terrible noise, giving +me quite a deep wound in the hand. Truly, my dear little domovoi, that +day we had been very near death, but God and the Little Father watched +over us.” + +And Matrena Petrovna made the sign of the cross. + +“All the windows of the house were broken. In all, we escaped with the +fright and a visit from the glazier, my little friend, but I certainly +believed that all was over.” + +“And Mademoiselle Natacha?” inquired Rouletabille. “She must also have +been terribly frightened, because the whole house must have rocked.” + +“Surely. But Natacha was not here that night. It was a Saturday. She +had been invited to the soiree du ‘Michel’ by the parents of Boris +Nikolaievitch, and she slept at their house, after supper at the Ours, +as had been planned. The next day, when she learned the danger the +general had escaped, she trembled in every limb. She threw herself in +her father’s arms, weeping, which was natural enough, and declared that +she never would go away from him again. The general told her how I had +managed. Then she pressed me to her heart, saying that she never would +forget such an action, and that she loved me more than if I were truly +her mother. It was all in vain that during the days following we sought +to understand how the infernal machine had been placed in the bouquet +of wild flowers. Only the general’s friends that you saw this evening, +Natacha and I had entered the general’s chamber during the day or in +the evening. No servant, no chamber-maid, had been on that floor. In +the day-time as well as all night long that entire floor is closed and I +have the keys. The door of the servants’ staircase which opens onto that +floor, directly into the general’s chamber, is always locked and barred +on the inside with iron. Natacha and I do the chamber work. There is no +way of taking greater precautions. Three police agents watched over +us night and day. The night of the bouquet two had spent their time +watching around the house, and the third lay on the sofa in the veranda. +Then, too, we found all the doors and windows of the villa shut tight. +In such circumstances you can judge whether my anguish was not deeper +than any I had known hitherto. Because to whom, henceforth, could we +trust ourselves? what and whom could we believe? what and whom could we +watch? From that day, no other person but Natacha and me have the right +to go to the first floor. The general’s chamber was forbidden to his +friends. Anyway, the general improved, and soon had the pleasure of +receiving them himself at his table. I carry the general down and take +him to his room again on my back. I do not wish anyone to help. I am +strong enough for that. I feel that I could carry him to the end of the +world if that would save him. Instead of three police, we had ten; five +outside, five inside. The days went well enough, but the nights were +frightful, because the shadows of the police that I encountered always +made me fear that I was face to face with the Nihilists. One night I +almost strangled one with my hand. It was after that incident that we +arranged with Koupriane that the agents who watched at night, inside, +should stay placed in the veranda, after having, at the end of the +evening, made complete examination of everything. They were not to leave +the veranda unless they heard a suspicious noise or I called to them. +And it was after that arrangement that the incident of the floor +happened, that has puzzled so both Koupriane and me.” + +“Pardon, madame,” interrupted Rouletabille, “but the agents, during the +examination of everything, never went to the bedroom floor?” + +“No, my child, there is only myself and Natacha, I repeat, who, since +the bouquet, go there.” + +“Well, madame, it is necessary to take me there at once.” + +“At once!” + +“Yes, into the general’s chamber.” + +“But he is sleeping, my child. Let me tell you exactly how the affair +of the floor happened, and you will know as much of it as I and as +Koupriane.” + +“To the general’s chamber at once.” + +She took both his hands and pressed them nervously. “Little friend! +Little friend! One hears there sometimes things which are the secret of +the night! You understand me?” + +“To the general’s chamber, at once, madame.” + +Abruptly she decided to take him there, agitated, upset as she was by +ideas and sentiments which held her without respite between the wildest +inquietude and the most imprudent audacity. + + + + +IV. “THE YOUTH OF MOSCOW IS DEAD” + +Rouletabille let himself be led by Matrena through the night, but he +stumbled and his awkward hands struck against various things. The ascent +to the first floor was accomplished in profound silence. Nothing broke +it except that restless moaning which had so affected the young man just +before. + +The tepid warmth, the perfume of a woman’s boudoir, then, beyond, +through two doors opening upon the dressing-room which lay between +Matrena’s chamber and Feodor’s, the dim luster of a night-lamp showed +the bed where was stretched the sleeping tyrant of Moscow. Ah, he was +frightening to see, with the play of faint yellow light and diffused +shadows upon him. Such heavy-arched eyebrows, such an aspect of pain and +menace, the massive jaw of a savage come from the plains of Tartary to +be the Scourge of God, the stiff, thick, spreading beard. This was a +form akin to the gallery of old nobles at Kasan, and young Rouletabille +imagined him as none other than Ivan the Terrible himself. Thus appeared +as he slept the excellent Feodor Feodorovitch, the easy, spoiled father +of the family table, the friend of the advocate celebrated for his feats +with knife and fork and of the bantering timber-merchant and amiable +bear-hunter, the joyous Thaddeus and Athanase; Feodor, the faithful +spouse of Matrena Petrovna and the adored papa of Natacha, a brave +man who was so unfortunate as to have nights of cruel sleeplessness or +dreams more frightful still. + +At that moment a hoarse sigh heaved his huge chest in an uneven +rhythm, and Rouletabille, leaning in the doorway of the dressing-room, +watched--but it was no longer the general that he watched, it was +something else, lower down, beside the wall, near the door, and it was +that which set him tiptoeing so lightly across the floor that it gave +no sound. There was no slightest sound in the chamber, except the heavy +breathing lifting the rough chest. Behind Rouletabille Matrena raised +her arms, as though she wished to hold him back, because she did not +know where he was going. What was he doing? Why did he stoop thus beside +the door and why did he press his thumb all along the floor at the +doorway? He rose again and returned. He passed again before the bed, +where rumbled now, like the bellows of a forge, the respiration of the +sleeper. Matrena grasped Rouletabille by the hand. And she had already +hurried him into the dressing-room when a moan stopped them. + +“The youth of Moscow is dead!” + +It was the sleeper speaking. The mouth which had given the stringent +orders moaned. And the lamentation was still a menace. In the haunted +sleep thrust upon that man by the inadequate narcotic the words Feodor +Feodorovitch spoke were words of mourning and pity. This perfect fiend +of a soldier, whom neither bullets nor bombs could intimidate, had a way +of saying words which transformed their meaning as they came from his +terrible mouth. The listeners could not but feel absorbed in the tones +of the brutal victor. + +Matrena Petrovna and Rouletabille had leant their two shadows, blended +one into the other, against the open doorway just beyond the gleam of +the night-lamp, and they heard with horror: + +“The youth of Moscow is dead! They have cleared away the corpses. There +is nothing but ruin left. The Kremlin itself has shut its gates--that it +may not see. The youth of Moscow is dead!” + +Feodor Feodorovitch’s fist shook above his bed; it seemed that he was +about to strike, to kill again, and Rouletabille felt Matrena trembling +against him, while he trembled as well before the fearful vision of the +killer in the Red Week! + +Feodor heaved an immense sigh and his breast descended under the +bed-clothes, the fist relaxed and fell, the great head lay over on its +ear. There was silence. Had he repose at last? No, no. He sighed, he +choked anew, he tossed on his couch like the damned in torment, and +the words written by his daughter--by his daughter--blazed in his eyes, +which now were wide open--words written on the wall, that he read on the +wall, written in blood. + + “The youth of Moscow is dead! They had gone so young into the + fields and into the mines, + And they had not found a single corner of the Russian land where + there were not moanings. + Now the youth of Moscow is dead and no more moanings are heard, + Because those for whom all youth died do not dare even to moan + any more. + +But--what? The voice of Feodor lost its threatening tone. His breath +came as from a weeping child. And it was with sobs in his throat that he +said the last verse, the verse written by his daughter in the album, in +red letters: + + “The last barricade had standing there the girl of eighteen + winters, the virgin of Moscow, flower of the snow. + Who gave her kisses to the workmen struck by the bullets + from the soldiers of the Czar; + “She aroused the admiration of the very soldiers who, weeping, + killed her: + “What killing! All the houses shuttered, the windows with heavy + eyelids of plank in order not to see!-- + “And the Kremlin itself has closed its gates--that it may + not see. + “The youth of Moscow is dead!” + +“Feodor! Feodor!” + +She had caught him in her arms, holding him fast, comforting him while +still he raved, “The youth of Moscow is dead,” and appeared to thrust +away with insensate gestures a crowd of phantoms. She crushed him to +her breast, she put her hands over his mouth to make him stop, but he, +saying, “Do you hear? Do you hear? What do they say? They say nothing, +now. What a tangle of bodies under the sleigh, Matrena! Look at those +frozen legs of those poor girls we pass, sticking out in all directions, +like logs, from under their icy, blooded skirts. Look, Matrena!” + +And then came further delirium uttered in Russian, which was all the +more terrible to Rouletabille because he could not comprehend it. + +Then, suddenly, Feodor became silent and thrust away Matrena Petrovna. + +“It is that abominable narcotic,” he said with an immense sigh. “I’ll +drink no more of it. I do not wish to drink it.” + +With one hand he pointed to a large glass on the table beside him, still +half full of a soporific mixture with which he moistened his lips each +time he woke; with the other hand he wiped the perspiration from his +face. Matrena Petrovna stayed trembling near him, suddenly overpowered +by the idea that he might discover there was someone there behind the +door, who had seen and heard the sleep of General Trebassof! Ah, if he +learned that, everything was over. She might say her prayers; she should +die. + +But Rouletabille was careful to give no sign. He barely breathed. What +a nightmare! He understood now the emotion of the general’s friends when +Natacha had sung in her low, sweet voice, “Good-night. May your eyes +have rest from tears and calm re-enter your heart oppressed.” The +friends had certainly been made aware, by Matrena’s anxious talking, of +the general’s insomnia, and they could not repress their tears as they +listened to the poetic wish of charming Natacha. “All the same,” thought +Rouletabille, “no one could imagine what I have just seen. They are not +dead for everyone in the world, the youths of Moscow, and every night I +know now a chamber where in the glow of the night-lamp they rise--they +rise--they rise!” and the young man frankly, naively regretted to have +intruded where he was; to have penetrated, however unintentionally, into +an affair which, after all, concerned only the many dead and the one +living. Why had he come to put himself between the dead and the living? +It might be said to him: “The living has done his whole heroic duty,” + but the dead, what else was it that they had done? + +Ah, Rouletabille cursed his curiosity, for--he saw it now--it was the +desire to approach the mystery revealed by Koupriane and to penetrate +once more, through all the besetting dangers, an astounding and perhaps +monstrous enigma, that had brought him to the threshold of the datcha +des Iles, which had placed him in the trembling hands of Matrena +Petrovna in promising her his help. He had shown pity, certainly, pity +for the delirious distress of that heroic woman. But there had been more +curiosity than pity in his motives. And now he must pay, because it was +too late now to withdraw, to say casually, “I wash my hands of it.” He +had sent away the police and he alone remained between the general +and the vengeance of the dead! He might desert, perhaps! That one idea +brought him to himself, roused all his spirit. Circumstances had brought +him into a camp that he must defend at any cost, unless he was afraid! + +The general slept now, or, at least, with eyelids closed simulated +sleep, doubtless in order to reassure poor Matrena who, on her knees +beside his pillow, had retained the hand of her terrible husband in her +own. Shortly she rose and rejoined Rouletabille in her chamber. She +took him then to a little guest-chamber where she urged him to get some +sleep. He replied that it was she who needed rest. But, agitated still +by what had just happened, she babbled: + +“No, no! after such a scene I would have nightmares myself as well. Ah, +it is dreadful! Appalling! Appalling! Dear little monsieur, it is the +secret of the night. The poor man! Poor unhappy man! He cannot tear his +thoughts away from it. It is his worst and unmerited punishment, this +translation that Natacha has made of Boris’s abominable verses. He knows +them by heart, they are in his brain and on his tongue all night long, +in spite of narcotics, and he says over and over again all the time, ‘It +is my daughter who has written that!--my daughter!--my daughter!’ It is +enough to wring all the tears from one’s body--that an aide-de-camp of a +general, who himself has killed the youth of Moscow, is allowed to write +such verses and that Natacha should take it upon herself to translate +them into lovely poetic French for her album. It is hard to account for +what they do nowadays, to our misery.” + +She ceased, for just then they heard the floor creak under a step +downstairs. Rouletabille stopped Matrena short and drew his revolver. He +wished to creep down alone, but he had not time. As the floor creaked +a second time, Matrena’s anguished voice called down the staircase +in Russian, “Who is there?” and immediately the calm voice of Natacha +answered something in the same language. Then Matrena, trembling more +and more, and very much excited keeping steadily to the same place as +though she had been nailed to the step of the stairway, said in French, +“Yes, all is well; your father is resting. Good-night, Natacha.” They +heard Natacha’s step cross the drawing-room and the sitting-room. Then +the door of her chamber closed. Matrena and Rouletabille descended, +holding their breath. They reached the dining-room and Matrena played +her dark-lantern on the sofa where the general always reclined. The sofa +was in its usual place on the carpet. She pushed it back and raised the +carpet, laying the floor bare. Then she got onto her knees and examined +the floor minutely. She rose, wiping the perspiration from her brow, put +the carpet hack in place, adjusted the sofa and dropped upon it with a +great sigh. + +“Well?” demanded Rouletabille. + +“Nothing at all,” said she. + +“Why did you call so openly?” + +“Because there was no doubt that it could only be my step-daughter on +the ground-floor at that hour.” + +“And why this anxiety to examine the floor again?” + +“I entreat you, my dear little child, do not see in my acts anything +mysterious, anything hard to explain. That anxiety you speak of never +leaves me. Whenever I have the chance I examine the flooring.” + +“Madame,” demanded the young man, “what was your daughter doing in this +room?” + +“She came for a glass of mineral water; the bottle is still on the +table.” + +“Madame, it is necessary that you tell me precisely what Koupriane has +only hinted to me, unless I am entirely mistaken. The first time that +you thought to examine the floor, was it after you heard a noise on the +ground-floor such as has just happened?” + +“Yes. I will tell you all that is necessary. It was the night after +the attempt with the bouquet, my dear little monsieur, my dear little +domovoi; it seemed to me I heard a noise on the ground-floor. I hurried +downstairs and saw nothing suspicious at first. Everything was shut +tight. I opened the door of Natacha’s chamber softly. I wished to ask +her if she had heard anything. But she was so fast asleep that I had not +the heart to awaken her. I opened the door of the veranda, and all the +police--all, you understand--slept soundly. I took another turn around +the furniture, and, with my lantern in my hand, I was just going out +of the dining-room when I noticed that the carpet on the floor was +disarranged at one corner. I got down and my hand struck a great fold +of carpet near the general’s sofa. You would have said that the sofa had +been rolled carelessly, trying to replace it in the position it usually +occupied. Prompted by a sinister presentiment, I pushed away the sofa +and I lifted the carpet. At first glance I saw nothing, but when I +examined things closer I saw that a strip of wood did not lie well with +the others on the floor. With a knife I was able to lift that strip and +I found that two nails which had fastened it to the beam below had been +freshly pulled out. It was just so I could raise the end of the board a +little without being able to slip my hand under. To lift it any more it +would be necessary to pull at least half-a-dozen nails. What could it +mean? Was I on the point of discovering some new terrible and mysterious +plan? I let the board fall back into place. I spread the carpet back +again carefully, put the sofa in its place, and in the morning sent for +Koupriane.” + +Rouletabille interrupted. + +“You had not, madame, spoken to anyone of this discovery?” + +“To no one.” + +“Not even to your step-daughter?” + +“No,” said the husky voice of Matrena, “not even to my step-daughter.” + +“Why?” demanded Rouletabille. + +“Because,” replied Matrena, after a moment’s hesitation, “there were +already enough frightening things about the house. I would not have +spoken to my daughter any more than I would have said a word to the +general. Why add to the disquiet they already suffered so much, in case +nothing developed?” + +“And what did Koupriane say?” + +“We examined the floor together, secretly. Koupriane slipped his hand +under more easily than I had done, and ascertained that under the board, +that is to say between the beam and the ceiling of the kitchen, there +was a hollow where any number of things might be placed. For the moment +the board was still too little released for any maneuver to be possible. +Koupriane, when he rose, said to me, ‘You have happened, madame, to +interrupt the person in her operations. But we are prepared henceforth. +We know what she does and she is unaware that we know. Act as though +you had not noticed anything; do not speak of it to anyone whatever--and +watch. Let the general continue to sit in his usual place and let no one +suspect that we have discovered the beginnings of this attempt. It is +the only way we can plan so that they will continue. All the same,’ he +added, ‘I will give my agents orders to patrol the ground-floor anew +during the night. I would be risking too much to let the person continue +her work each night. She might continue it so well that she would be +able to accomplish it--you understand me? But by day you arrange that +the rooms on the ground-floor be free from time to time--not for long, +but from time to time.’ I don’t know why, but what he said and the way +he said it frightened me more than ever. However, I carried out his +program. Then, three days later, about eight o’clock, when the night +watch was not yet started, that is to say at the moment when the police +were still all out in the garden or walking around the house, outside, +and when I had left the the ground-floor perfectly free while I helped +the general to bed, I felt drawn even against myself suddenly to the +dining-room. I lifted the carpet and examined the floor. Three more +nails had been drawn from the board, which lifted more easily now, and +under it, I could see that the normal cavity had been made wider still!” + +When she had said this, Matrena stopped, as if, overcome, she could not +tell more. + +“Well?” insisted Rouletabille. + +“Well, I replaced things as I found them and made rapid inquiries of +the police and their chief; no one had entered the ground-floor. You +understand me?--no one at all. Neither had anyone come out from it.” + +“How could anyone come out if no one had entered?” + +“I wish to say,” said she with a sob, “that Natacha during this space of +time had been in her chamber, in her chamber on the ground-floor.” + +“You appear to be very disturbed, madame, at this recollection. Can you +tell me further, and precisely, why you are agitated?” + +“You understand me, surely,” she said, shaking her head. + +“If I understand you correctly, I have to understand that from the +previous time you examined the floor until the time that you noted three +more nails drawn out, no other person could have entered the dining-room +but you and your step-daughter Natacha.” + +Matrena took Rouletabille’s hand as though she had reached an important +decision. + +“My little friend,” moaned she, “there are things I am not able to think +about and which I can no longer entertain when Natacha embraces me. It +is a mystery more frightful than all else. Koupriane tells me that he is +sure, absolutely sure, of the agents he kept here; my sole consolation, +do you see, my little friend can tell you frankly, now that you have +sent away those men--my sole consolation since that day has been that +Koupriane is less sure of his men than I am of Natacha.” + +She broke down and sobbed. + +When she was calmed, she looked for Rouletabille, and could not +find him. Then she wiped her eyes, picked up her dark-lantern, and, +furtively, crept to her post beside the general. + +For that day these are the points in Rouletabille’s notebook: + +“Topography: Villa surrounded by a large garden on three sides. The +fourth side gives directly onto a wooded field that stretches to the +river Neva. On this side the level of the ground is much lower, so +low that the sole window opening in that wall (the window of Natacha’s +sitting-room on the ground-floor) is as high from the ground as though +it were on the next floor in any other part of the house. This window is +closed by iron shutters, fastened inside by a bar of iron. + +“Friends: Athanase Georgevitch, Ivan Petrovitch, Thaddeus the +timber-merchant (peat boots), Michael and Boris (fine shoes). Matrena, +sincere love, blundering heroism. Natacha unknown. Against Natacha: +Never there during the attacks. At Moscow at the time of the bomb in +the sleigh, no one knows where she was, and it is she who should have +accompanied the general (detail furnished by Koupriane that Matrena +generously kept back). The night of the bouquet is the only night +Natacha has slept away from the house. Coincidence of the disappearance +of the nails and the presence all alone on the ground-floor of Natacha, +in case, of course, Matrena did not pull them out herself. For Natacha: +Her eyes when she looks at her father.” + +And this bizarre phrase: + +“We mustn’t be rash. This evening I have not yet spoken to Matrena +Petrovna about the little hat-pin. That little hat-pin is the greatest +relief of my life.” + + + + +V. BY ROULETABILLE’S ORDER THE GENERAL PROMENADES + +“Good morning, my dear little familiar spirit. The general slept +splendidly the latter part of the night. He did not touch his narcotic. +I am sure it is that dreadful mixture that gives him such frightful +dreams. And you, my dear little friend, you have not slept an instant. +I know it. I felt you going everywhere about the house like a little +mouse. Ah, it seems good, so good. I slept so peacefully, hearing the +subdued movement of your little steps. Thanks for the sleep you have +given me, little friend.” + +Matrena talked on to Rouletabille, whom she had found the morning after +the nightmare tranquilly smoking his pipe in the garden. + +“Ah, ah, you smoke a pipe. Now you do certainly look exactly like a dear +little domovoi-doukh. See how much you are alike. He smokes just like +you. Nothing new, eh? You do not look very bright this morning. You are +worn out. I have just arranged the little guest-chamber for you, the +only one we have, just behind mine. Your bed is waiting for you. Is +there anything you need? Tell me. Everything here is at your service.” + +“I’m not in need of anything, madame,” said the young man smilingly, +after this outpouring of words from the good, heroic dame. + +“How can you say that, dear child? You will make yourself sick. I want +you to understand that I wish you to rest. I want to be a mother to you, +if you please, and you must obey me, my child. Have you had breakfast +yet this morning? If you do not have breakfast promptly mornings, I will +think you are annoyed. I am so annoyed that you have heard the secret of +the night. I have been afraid that you would want to leave at once and +for good, and that you would have mistaken ideas about the general. +There is not a better man in the world than Feodor, and he must have +a good, a very good conscience to dare, without fail, to perform such +terrible duties as those at Moscow, when he is so good at heart. These +things are easy enough for wicked people, but for good men, for good men +who can reason it out, who know what they do and that they are condemned +to death into the bargain, it is terrible, it is terrible! Why, I told +him the moment things began to go wrong in Moscow, ‘You know what to +expect, Feodor. Here is a dreadful time to get through--make out you are +sick.’ I believed he was going to strike me, to kill me on the spot. +‘I! Betray the Emperor in such a moment! His Majesty, to whom I owe +everything! What are you thinking of, Matrena Petrovna!’ And he did +not speak to me after that for two days. It was only when he saw I was +growing very ill that he pardoned me, but he had to be plagued with my +jeremiads and the appealing looks of Natacha without end in his own +home each time we heard any shooting in the street. Natacha attended the +lectures of the Faculty, you know. And she knew many of them, and even +some of those who were being killed on the barricades. Ah, life was not +easy for him in his own home, the poor general! Besides, there was also +Boris, whom I love as well, for that matter, as my own child, because I +shall be very happy to see him married to Natacha--there was poor Boris +who always came home from the attacks paler than a corpse and who could +not keep from moaning with us.” + +“And Michael?” questioned Rouletabille. + +“Oh, Michael only came towards the last. He is a new orderly to the +general. The government at St. Petersburg sent him, because of course +they couldn’t help learning that Boris rather lacked zeal in repressing +the students and did not encourage the general in being as severe as was +necessary for the safety of the Empire. But Michael, he has a heart of +stone; he knows nothing but the countersign and massacres fathers and +mothers, crying, ‘Vive le Tsar!’ Truly, it seems his heart can only be +touched by the sight of Natacha. And that again has caused a good deal +of anxiety to Feodor and me. It has caught us in a useless complication +that we would have liked to end by the prompt marriage of Natacha and +Boris. But Natacha, to our great surprise, has not wished it to be so. +No, she has not wished it, saying that there is always time to think +of her wedding and that she is in no hurry to leave us. Meantime she +entertains herself with this Michael as if she did not fear his passion, +and neither has Michael the desperate air of a man who knows the +definite engagement of Natacha and Boris. And my step-daughter is not a +coquette. No, no. No one can say she is a coquette. At least, no one had +been able to say it up to the time that Michael arrived. Can it be +that she is a coquette? They are mysterious, these young girls, very +mysterious, above all when they have that calm and tranquil look that +Natacha always has; a face, monsieur, as you have noticed perhaps, whose +beauty is rather passive whatever one says and does, excepting when the +volleys in the streets kill her young comrades of the schools. Then I +have seen her almost faint, which proves she has a great heart under +her tranquil beauty. Poor Natacha! I have seen her excited as I over the +life of her father. My little friend, I have seen her searching in the +middle of the night, with me, for infernal machines under the furniture, +and then she has expressed the opinion that it is nervous, childish, +unworthy of us to act like that, like timid beasts under the sofas, and +she has left me to search by myself. True, she never quits the general. +She is more reassured, and is reassuring to him, at his side. It has +an excellent moral effect on him, while I walk about and search like a +beast. And she has become as fatalistic as he, and now she sings verses +to the guzla, like Boris, or talks in corners with Michael, which makes +the two enraged each with the other. They are curious, the young women +of St. Petersburg and Moscow, very curious. We were not like that in our +time, at Orel. We did not try to enrage people. We would have received a +box on the ears if we had.” + +Natacha came in upon this conversation, happy, in white voile, fresh and +smiling like a girl who had passed an excellent night. She asked after +the health of the young man very prettily and embraced Matrena, in truth +as one embraces a much-beloved mother. She complained again of Matrena’s +night-watch. + +“You have not stopped it, mamma; you have not stopped it, eh? You are +not going to be a little reasonable at last? I beg of you! What has +given me such a mother! Why don’t you sleep? Night is made for sleep. +Koupriane has upset you. All the terrible things are over in Moscow. +There is no occasion to think of them any more. That Koupriane makes +himself important with his police-agents and obsesses us all. I am +convinced that the affair of the bouquet was the work of his police.” + +“Mademoiselle,” said Rouletabille, “I have just had them all sent away, +all of them--because I think very much the same as you do.” + +“Well, then, you will be my friend, Monsieur Rouletabille I promise you, +since you have done that. Now that the police are gone we have nothing +more to fear. Nothing. I tell you, mamma; you can believe me and not +weep any more, mamma dear.” + +“Yes, yes; kiss me. Kiss me again!” repeated Matrena, drying her eyes. +“When you kiss me I forget everything. You love me like your own mother, +don’t you?” + +“Like my mother. Like my own mother.” + +“You have nothing to hide from me?--tell me, Natacha.” + +“Nothing to hide.” + +“Then why do you make Boris suffer so? Why don’t you marry him?” + +“Because I don’t wish to leave you, mamma dear.” + +She escaped further parley by jumping up on the garden edge away from +Khor, who had just been set free for the day. + +“The dear child,” said Matrena; “the dear little one, she little knows +how much pain she has caused us without being aware of it, by her ideas, +her extravagant ideas. Her father said to me one day at Moscow, ‘Matrena +Petrovna, I’ll tell you what I think--Natacha is the victim of the +wicked books that have turned the brains of all these poor rebellious +students. Yes, yes; it would be better for her and for us if she did not +know how to read, for there are moments--my word!--when she talks very +wildly, and I have said to myself more than once that with such ideas +her place is not in our salon hut behind a barricade. All the same,’ he +added after reflection, ‘I prefer to find her in the salon where I can +embrace her than behind a barricade where I would kill her like a mad +dog.’ But my husband, dear little monsieur, did not say what he really +thinks, for he loves his daughter more than all the rest of the world +put together, and there are things that even a general, yes, even a +governor-general, would not be able to do without violating both divine +and human laws. He suspects Boris also of setting Natacha’s wits awry. +We really have to consider that when they are married they will read +everything they have a mind to. My husband has much more real respect +for Michael Korsakoff because of his impregnable character and his +granite conscience. More than once he has said, ‘Here is the aide I +should have had in the worst days of Moscow. He would have spared me +much of the individual pain.’ I can understand how that would please +the general, but how such a tigerish nature succeeds in appealing to +Natacha, how it succeeds in not actually revolting her, these young +girls of the capital, one never can tell about them--they get away from +all your notions of them.” + +Rouletabille inquired: + +“Why did Boris say to Michael, ‘We will return together’? Do they live +together?” + +“Yes, in the small villa on the Krestowsky Ostrov, the isle across from +ours, that you can see from the window of the sitting-room. Boris chose +it because of that. The orderlies wished to have camp-beds prepared for +them right here in the general’s house, by a natural devotion to him; +but I opposed it, in order to keep them both from Natacha, in whom, +of course, I have the most complete confidence, but one cannot be sure +about the extravagance of men nowadays.” + +Ermolai came to announce the petit-dejeuner. They found Natacha already +at table and she poured them coffee and milk, eating away all the time +at a sandwich of anchovies and caviare. + +“Tell me, mamma, do you know what gives me such an appetite? It is the +thought of the way poor Koupriane must have taken this dismissal of his +men. I should like to go to see him.” + +“If you see him,” said Rouletabille, “it is unnecessary to tell him that +the general will go for a long promenade among the isles this afternoon, +because without fail he would send us an escort of gendarmes.” + +“Papa! A promenade among the islands? Truly? Oh, that is going to be +lovely!” + +Matrena Petrovna sprang to her feet. + +“Are you mad, my dear little domovoi, actually mad?” + +“Why? Why? It is fine. I must run and tell papa.” + +“Your father’s room is locked,” said Matrena brusquely. + +“Yes, yes; he is locked in. You have the key. Locked away until death! +You will kill him. It will be you who kills him.” + +She left the table without waiting for a reply and went and shut herself +also in her chamber. + +Matrena looked at Rouletabille, who continued his breakfast as though +nothing had happened. + +“Is it possible that you speak seriously?” she demanded, coming over and +sitting down beside him. “A promenade! Without the police, when we have +received again this morning a letter saying now that before forty-eight +hours the general will be dead!” + +“Forty-eight hours,” said Rouletabille, soaking his bread in his +chocolate, “forty-eight hours? It is possible. In any case, I know they +will try something very soon.” + +“My God, how is it that you believe that? You speak with assurance.” + +“Madame, it is necessary to do everything I tell you, to the letter.” + +“But to have the general go out, unless he is guarded--how can you take +such a responsibility? When I think about it, when I really think about +it, I ask myself how you have dared send away the police. But here, at +least, I know what to do in order to feel a little safe, I know that +downstairs with Gniagnia and Ermolai we have nothing to fear. No +stranger can approach even the basement. The provisions are brought from +the lodge by our dvornicks whom we have had sent from my mother’s home +in the Orel country and who are as devoted to us as bull-dogs. Not +a bottle of preserves is taken into the kitchens without having been +previously opened outside. No package comes from any tradesman without +being opened in the lodge. Here, within, we are able to feel a little +safe, even without the police--but away from here--outside!” + +“Madame, they are going to try to kill your husband within forty-eight +hours. Do you desire me to save him perhaps for a long time--for good, +perhaps?” + +“Ah, listen to him! Listen to him, the dear little domovoi! But what +will Koupriane say? He will not permit any venturing beyond the villa; +none, at least for the moment. Ah, now, how he looks at me, the dear +little domovoi! Oh, well, yes. There, I will do as you wish.” + +“Very well, come into the garden with me.” + +She accompanied him, leaning on his arm. + +“Here’s the idea,” said Rouletabille. “This afternoon you will go with +the general in his rolling-chair. Everybody will follow. Everyone, +you understand, Madame--understand me thoroughly, I mean to say that +everyone who wishes to come must be invited to. Only those who wish +to remain behind will do so. And do not insist. Ah, now, I see, you +understand me. Why do you tremble?” + +“But who will guard the house?” + +“No one. Simply tell the servant at the lodge to watch from the +lodge those who enter the villa, but simply from the lodge, without +interfering with them, and saying nothing to them, nothing.” + +“I will do as you wish. Do you want me to announce our promenade +beforehand?” + +“Why, certainly. Don’t be uneasy; let everybody have the good news.” + +“Oh, I will tell only the general and his friends, you may be sure.” + +“Now, dear Madame, just one more word. Do not wait for me at luncheon.” + +“What! You are going to leave us?” she cried instantly, breathless. “No, +no. I do not wish it. I am willing to do without the police, but I am +not willing to do without you. Everything might happen in your absence. +Everything! Everything!” she repeated with singular energy. “Because, +for me, I cannot feel sure as I should, perhaps. Ah, you make me say +these things. Such things! But do not go.” + +“Do not be afraid; I am not going to leave you, madame.” + +“Ah, you are good! You are kind, kind! Caracho! (Very well.)” + +“I will not leave you. But I must not be at luncheon. If anyone asks +where I am, say that I have my business to look after, and have gone to +interview political personages in the city.” + +“There’s only one political personage in Russia,” replied Matrena +Petrovna bluntly; “that is the Tsar.” + +“Very well; say I have gone to interview the Tsar.” + +“But no one will believe that. And where will you be?” + +“I do not know myself. But I will be about the house.” + +“Very well, very well, dear little domovoi.” + +She left him, not knowing what she thought about it all, nor what she +should think--her head was all in a muddle. + +In the course of the morning Athanase Georgevitch and Thaddeus +Tchnitchnikof arrived. The general was already in the veranda. Michael +and Boris arrived shortly after, and inquired in their turn how he had +passed the night without the police. When they were told that Feodor +was going for a promenade that afternoon they applauded his decision. +“Bravo! A promenade a la strielka (to the head of the island) at the +hour when all St. Petersburg is driving there. That is fine. We will all +be there.” The general made them stay for luncheon. Natacha appeared for +the meal, in rather melancholy mood. A little before luncheon she had +held a double conversation in the garden with Michael and Boris. No one +ever could have known what these three young people had said if some +stenographic notes in Rouletabille’s memorandum-book did not give us +a notion; the reporter had overheard, by accident surely, since all +self-respecting reporters are quite incapable of eavesdropping. + +The memorandum notes: + +Natacha went into the garden with a book, which she gave to Boris, who +pressed her hand lingeringly to his lips. “Here is your book; I return +it to you. I don’t want any more of them, the ideas surge so in my +brain. It makes my head ache. It is true, you are right, I don’t love +novelties. I can satisfy myself with Pouchkine perfectly. The rest are +all one to me. Did you pass a good night?” + +Boris (good-looking young man, about thirty years old, blonde, a little +effeminate, wistful. A curious appurtenance in the military household of +so vigorous a general). “Natacha, there is not an hour that I can call +truly good if I spend it away from you, dear, dear Natacha.” + +“I ask you seriously if you have passed a good night?” + +She touched his hand a moment and looked into his eyes, but he shook his +head. + +“What did you do last night after you reached home?” she demanded +insistently. “Did you stay up?” + +“I obeyed you; I only sat a half-hour by the window looking over here at +the villa, and then I went to bed.” + +“Yes, it is necessary you should get your rest. I wish it for you as +for everyone else. This feverish life is impossible. Matrena Petrovna is +getting us all ill, and we shall be prostrated.” + +“Yesterday,” said Boris, “I looked at the villa for a half-hour from +my window. Dear, dear villa, dear night when I can feel you breathing, +living near me. As if you had been against my heart. I could have wept +because I could hear Michael snoring in his chamber. He seemed happy. +At last, I heard nothing more, there was nothing more to hear but the +double chorus of frogs in the pools of the island. Our pools, Natacha, +are like the enchanted lakes of the Caucasus which are silent by day and +sing at evening; there are innumerable throngs of frogs which sing on +the same chord, some of them on a major and some on a minor. The chorus +speaks from pool to pool, lamenting and moaning across the fields and +gardens, and re-echoing like AEolian harps placed opposite one another.” + +“Do AEolian harps make so much noise, Boris?” + +“You laugh? I don’t find you yourself half the time. It is Michael who +has changed you, and I am out of it. (Here they spoke in Russian.) +I shall not be easy until I am your husband. I can’t understand your +manner with Michael at all.” + +(Here more Russian words which I do not understand.) + +“Speak French; here is the gardener,” said Natacha. + +“I do not like the way you are managing our lives. Why do you delay our +marriage? Why?” + +(Russian words from Natacha. Gesture of desperation from Boris.) + +“How long? You say a long time? But that says nothing--a long time. How +long? A year? Two years? Ten years? Tell me, or I will kill myself at +your feet. No, no; speak or I will kill Michael. On my word! Like a +dog!” + +“I swear to you, by the dear head of your mother, Boris, that the date +of our marriage does not depend on Michael.” + +(Some words in Russian. Boris, a little consoled, holds her hand +lingeringly to his lips.) + +Conversation between Michael and Natacha in the garden: + +“Well? Have you told him?” + +“I ended at last by making him understand that there is not any hope. +None. It is necessary to have patience. I have to have it myself.” + +“He is stupid and provoking.” + +“Stupid, no. Provoking, yes, if you wish. But you also, you are +provoking.” + +“Natacha! Natacha!” + +(Here more Russian.) As Natacha started to leave, Michael placed his +hand on her shoulder, stopped her and said, looking her direct in the +eyes: + +“There will be a letter from Annouchka this evening, by a messenger +at five o’clock.” He made each syllable explicit. “Very important and +requiring an immediate reply.” + +These notes of Rouletabille’s are not followed by any commentary. + +After luncheon the gentlemen played poker until half-past four, which +is the “chic” hour for the promenade to the head of the island. +Rouletabille had directed Matrena to start exactly at a quarter to five. +He appeared in the meantime, announcing that he had just interviewed +the mayor of St. Petersburg, which made Athanase laugh, who could not +understand that anyone would come clear from Paris to talk with men like +that. Natacha came from her chamber to join them for the promenade. Her +father told her she looked too worried. + +They left the villa. Rouletabille noted that the dvornicks were before +the gate and that the schwitzar was at his post, from which he could +detect everyone who might enter or leave the villa. Matrena pushed the +rolling-chair herself. The general was radiant. He had Natacha at his +right and at his left Athanase and Thaddeus. The two orderlies followed, +talking with Rouletabille, who had monopolized them. The conversation +turned on the devotion of Matrena Petrovna, which they placed above the +finest heroic traits in the women of antiquity, and also on Natacha’s +love for her father. Rouletabille made them talk. + +Boris Mourazoff explained that this exceptional love was accounted for +by the fact that Natacha’s own mother, the general’s first wife, died in +giving birth to their daughter, and accordingly Feodor Feodorovitch had +been both father and mother to his daughter. He had raised her with the +most touching care, not permitting anyone else, when she was sick, to +have the care of passing the nights by her bedside. + +Natacha was seven years old when Feodor Feodorovitch was appointed +governor of Orel. In the country near Orel, during the summer, the +general and his daughter lived on neighborly terms near the family of +old Petroff, one of the richest fur merchants in Russia. Old Petroff +had a daughter, Matrena, who was magnificent to see, like a beautiful +field-flower. She was always in excellent humor, never spoke ill of +anyone in the neighborhood, and not only had the fine manners of a +city dame but a great, simple heart, which she lavished on the little +Natacha. + +The child returned the affection of the beautiful Matrena, and it was +on seeing them always happy to find themselves together that Trebassof +dreamed of reestablishing his fireside. The nuptials were quickly +arranged, and the child, when she learned that her good Matrena was to +wed her papa, danced with joy. Then misfortune came only a few weeks +before the ceremony. Old Petroff, who speculated on the Exchange for a +long time without anyone knowing anything about it, was ruined from top +to bottom. Matrena came one evening to apprise Feodor Feodorovitch of +this sad news and return his pledge to him. For all response Feodor +placed Natacha in Matrena’s arms. “Embrace your mother,” he said to +the child, and to Matrena, “From to-day I consider you my wife, Matrena +Petrovna. You should obey me in all things. Take that reply to your +father and tell him my purse is at his disposition.” + +The general was already, at that time, even before he had inherited +the Cheremaieff, immensely rich. He had lands behind Nijni as vast as +a province, and it would have been difficult to count the number of +moujiks who worked for him on his property. Old Pretroff gave his +daughter and did not wish to accept anything in exchange. Feodor wished +to settle a large allowance on his wife; her father opposed that, and +Matrena sided with him in the matter against her husband, because of +Natacha. “It all belongs to the little one,” she insisted. “I accept the +position of her mother, but on the condition that she shall never lose a +kopeck of her inheritance.” + +“So that,” concluded Boris, “if the general died tomorrow she would be +poorer than Job.” + +“Then the general is Matrena’s sole resource,” reflected Rouletabille +aloud. + +“I can understand her hanging onto him,” said Michael Korsakoff, blowing +the smoke of his yellow cigarette. “Look at her. She watches him like a +treasure.” + +“What do you mean, Michael Nikolaievitch?” said Boris, curtly. +“You believe, do you, that the devotion of Matrena Petrovna is not +disinterested. You must know her very poorly to dare utter such a +thought.” + +“I have never had that thought, Boris Alexandrovitch,” replied the other +in a tone curter still. “To be able to imagine that anyone who lives +in the Trebassofs’ home could have such a thought needs an ass’s head, +surely.” + +“We will speak of it again, Michael Nikolaievitch.” + +“At your pleasure, Boris Alexandrovitch.” + +They had exchanged these latter words tranquilly continuing their walk +and negligently smoking their yellow tobacco. Rouletabille was between +them. He did not regard them; he paid no attention even to their +quarrel; he had eyes only for Natacha, who just now quit her place +beside her father’s wheel-chair and passed by them with a little nod of +the head, seeming in haste to retrace the way back to the villa. + +“Are you leaving us?” Boris demanded of her. + +“Oh, I will rejoin you immediately. I have forgotten my umbrella.” + +“But I will go and get it for you,” proposed Michael. + +“No, no. I have to go to the villa; I will return right away.” + +She was already past them. Rouletabille, during this, looked at Matrena +Petrovna, who looked at him also, turning toward the young man a visage +pale as wax. But no one else noted the emotion of the good Matrena, who +resumed pushing the general’s wheel-chair. + +Rouletabille asked the officers, “Was this arrangement because the first +wife of the general, Natacha’s mother, was rich?” + +“No. The general, who always had his heart in his hand,” said Boris, +“married her for her great beauty. She was a beautiful girl of the +Caucasus, of excellent family besides, that Feodor Feodorovitch had +known when he was in garrison at Tiflis.” + +“In short,” said Rouletabille, “the day that General Trebassof dies +Madame Trebassof, who now possesses everything, will have nothing, and +the daughter, who now has nothing, will have everything.” + +“Exactly that,” said Michael. + +“That doesn’t keep Matrena Petrovna and Natacha Feodorovna from deeply +loving each other,” observed Boris. + +The little party drew near the “Point.” So far the promenade had been +along pleasant open country, among the low meadows traversed by fresh +streams, across which tiny bridges had been built, among bright gardens +guarded by porcelain dwarfs, or in the shade of small weeds from the +feet of whose trees the newly-cut grass gave a seasonal fragrance. All +was reflected in the pools--which lay like glass whereon a scene-painter +had cut the green hearts of the pond-lily leaves. An adorable country +glimpse which seemed to have been created centuries back for the +amusement of a queen and preserved, immaculately trimmed and cleaned, +from generation to generation, for the eternal charm of such an hour as +this on the banks of the Gulf of Finland. + +Now they had reached the bank of the Gulf, and the waves rippled to the +prows of the light ships, which dipped gracefully like huge and rapid +sea-gulls, under the pressure of their great white sails. + +Along the roadway, broader now, glided, silently and at walking pace, +the double file of luxurious equipages with impatient horses, the open +carriages in which the great personages of the court saw the view and +let themselves be seen. Enormous coachmen held the reins high. Lively +young women, negligently reclining against the cushions, displayed their +new Paris toilettes, and kept young officers on horseback busy with +salutes. There were all kinds of uniforms. No talking was heard. +Everyone was kept busy looking. There rang in the pure, thin air only +the noise of the champing bits and the tintinnabulation of the bells +attached to the hairy Finnish ponies’ collars. And all that, so +beautiful, fresh, charming and clear, and silent, it all seemed more +a dream than even that which hung in the pools, suspended between the +crystal of the air and the crystal of the water. The transparence of the +sky and the transparence of the gulf blended their two unrealities so +that one could not note where the horizons met. + +Rouletabille looked at the view and looked at the general, and in all +his young vibrating soul there was a sense of infinite sadness, for he +recalled those terrible words in the night: “They have gone into all the +corners of the Russian land, and they have not found a single corner of +that land where there are not moanings.” “Well,” thought he, “they have +not come into this corner, apparently. I don’t know anything lovelier or +happier in the world.” No, no, Rouletabille, they have not come here. +In every country there is a corner of happy life, which the poor are +ashamed to approach, which they know nothing of, and of which merely the +sight would turn famished mothers enraged, with their thin bosoms, and, +if it is not more beautiful than that, certainly no part of the earth +is made so atrocious to live in for some, nor so happy for others as in +this Scythian country, the boreal country of the world. + +Meanwhile the little group about the general’s rolling-chair had +attracted attention. Some passers-by saluted, and the news spread +quickly that General Trebassof had come for a promenade to “the Point.” + Heads turned as carriages passed; the general, noticing how much +excitement his presence produced, begged Matrena Petrovna to push his +chair into an adjacent by-path, behind a shield of trees where he would +be able to enjoy the spectacle in peace. + +He was found, nevertheless, by Koupriane, the Chief of Police, who was +looking for him. He had gone to the datcha and been told there that the +general, accompanied by his friends and the young Frenchman, had gone +for a turn along the gulf. Koupriane had left his carriage at the +datcha, and taken the shortest route after them. + +He was a fine man, large, solid, clear-eyed. His uniform showed his fine +build to advantage. He was generally liked in St. Petersburg, where +his martial bearing and his well-known bravery had given him a sort of +popularity in society, which, on the other hand, had great disdain for +Gounsovski, the head of the Secret Police, who was known to be capable +of anything underhanded and had been accused of sometimes playing into +the hands of the Nihilists, whom he disguised as agents-provocateurs, +without anybody really doubting it, and he had to fight against these +widespread political suspicions. + +Well-informed men declared that the death of the previous “prime +minister,” who had been blown up before Varsovie station when he was on +his way to the Tsar at Peterhof, was Gounsovski’s work and that in this +he was the instrument of the party at court which had sworn the death +of the minister which inconvenienced it.* On the other hand, everyone +regarded Koupriane as incapable of participating in any such horrors and +that he contented himself with honest performance of his obvious duties, +confining himself to ridding the streets of its troublesome elements, +and sending to Siberia as many as he could of the hot-heads, without +lowering himself to the compromises which, more than once, had given +grounds for the enemies of the empire to maintain that it was difficult +to say whether the chiefs of the Russian police played the part of the +law or that of the revolutionary party, even that the police had been at +the end of a certain time of such mixed procedure hardly able to +decide themselves which they did. + + * Rumored cause of Plehve’s assassination. + +This afternoon Koupriane appeared very nervous. He paid his compliments +to the general, grumbled at his imprudence, praised him for his bravery, +and then at once picked out Rouletabille, whom he took aside to talk to. + +“You have sent my men back to me,” said he to the young reporter. +“You understand that I do not allow that. They are furious, and quite +rightly. You have given publicly as explanation of their departure--a +departure which has naturally astonished, stupefied the general’s +friends--the suspicion of their possible participation in the last +attack. That is abominable, and I will not permit it. My men have not +been trained in the methods of Gounsovski, and it does them a cruel +injury, which I resent, for that matter, personally, to treat them this +way. But let that go, as a matter of sentiment, and return to the simple +fact itself, which proves your excessive imprudence, not to say more, +and which involves you, you alone, in a responsibility of which you +certainly have not measured the importance. All in all, I consider that +you have strangely abused the complete authority that I gave you upon +the Emperor’s orders. When I learned what you had done I went to find +the Tsar, as was my duty, and told him the whole thing. He was more +astonished than can be expressed. He directed me to go myself to find +out just how things were and to furnish the general the guard you had +removed. I arrive at the isles and not only find the villa open like a +mill where anyone may enter, but I am informed, and then I see, that the +general is promenading in the midst of the crowd, at the mercy of the +first miserable venturer. Monsieur Rouletabille, I am not satisfied. The +Tsar is not satisfied. And, within an hour, my men will return to assume +their guard at the datcha.” + +Rouletabille listened to the end. No one ever had spoken to him in that +tone. He was red, and as ready to burst as a child’s balloon blown too +hard. He said: + +“And I will take the train this evening.” + +“You will go?” + +“Yes, and you can guard your general all alone. I have had enough of it. +Ah, you are not satisfied! Ah, the Tsar is not satisfied! It is too +bad. No more of it for me. Monsieur, I am not satisfied, and I say +Good-evening to you. Only do not forget to send me from here every three +or four days a letter which will keep me informed of the health of the +general, whom I love dearly. I will offer up a little prayer for him.” + +Thereupon he was silent, for he caught the glance of Matrena Petrovna, +a glance so desolated, so imploring, so desperate, that the poor woman +inspired him anew with great pity. Natacha had not returned. What was +the young girl doing at that moment? If Matrena really loved Natacha +she must be suffering atrociously. Koupriane spoke; Rouletabille did +not hear him, and he had already forgotten his own anger. His spirit was +wrapped in the mystery. + +“Monsieur,” Koupriane finished by saying, tugging his sleeve, “do you +hear me? I pray you at least reply to me. I offer all possible excuses +for speaking to you in that tone. I reiterate them. I ask your pardon. +I pray you to explain your conduct, which appeared imprudent to me but +which, after all, should have some reason. I have to explain to the +Emperor. Will you tell me? What ought I to say to the Emperor?” + +“Nothing at all,” said Rouletabille. “I have no explanation to give you +or the Emperor, or to anyone. You can offer him my utmost homage and do +me the kindness to vise my passport for this evening.” + +And he sighed: + +“It is too bad, for we were just about to see something interesting.” + +Koupriane looked at him. Rouletabille had not quitted Matrena Petrovna’s +eyes, and her pallor struck Koupriane. + +“Just a minute,” continued the young man. “I’m sure there is someone +who will miss me--that brave woman there. Ask her which she prefers, all +your police, or her dear little domovoi. We are good friends already. +And--don’t forget to present my condolences to her when the terrible +moment has come.” + +It was Koupriane’s turn to be troubled. + +He coughed and said: + +“You believe, then, that the general runs a great immediate danger?” + +“I do not only believe it, monsieur, I am sure of it. His death is a +matter of hours for the poor dear man. Before I go I shall not fail +to tell him, so that he can prepare himself comfortably for the great +journey and ask pardon of the Lord for the rather heavy hand he has laid +on these poor men of Presnia.” + +“Monsieur Rouletabille, have you discovered something?” + +“Good Lord, yes, I have discovered something, Monsieur Koupriane. You +don’t suppose I have come so far to waste my time, do you?” + +“Something no one else knows?” + +“Yes, Monsieur Koupriane, otherwise I shouldn’t have troubled to feel +concerned. Something I have not confided to anyone, not even to my +note-book, because a note-book, you know, a note-book can always be +lost. I just mention that in case you had any idea of having me searched +before my departure.” + +“Oh, Monsieur Rouletabille!” + +“Eh, eh, like the way the police do in your country; in mine too, for +that matter. Yes, that’s often enough seen. The police, furious because +they can’t hit a clue in some case that interests them, arrest a +reporter who knows more than they do, in order to make him talk. +But--nothing of that sort with me, monsieur. You might have me taken to +your famous ‘Terrible Section,’ I’d not open my mouth, not even in the +famous rocking-chair, not even under the blows of clenched fists.” + +“Monsieur Rouletabille, what do you take us for? You are the guest of +the Tsar.” + +“Ah, I have the word of an honest man. Very well, I will treat you as an +honest man. I will tell you what I have discovered. I don’t wish through +any false pride to keep you in darkness about something which may +perhaps--I say perhaps--permit you to save the general.” + +“Tell me. I am listening.” + +“But it is perfectly understood that once I have told you this you will +give me my passport and allow me to depart?” + +“You feel that you couldn’t possibly,” inquired Koupriane, more and more +troubled, and after a moment of hesitation, “you couldn’t possibly tell +me that and yet remain?” + +“No, monsieur. From the moment you place me under the necessity of +explaining each of my movements and each of my acts, I prefer to go and +leave to you that ‘responsibility’ of which you spoke just now, my dear +Monsieur Koupriane.” + +Astonished and disquieted by this long conversation between Rouletabille +and the Head of Police, Matrena Petrovna continually turned upon them +her anguished glance, which always insensibly softened as it rested on +Rouletabille. Koupriane read there all the hope that the brave woman had +in the young reporter, and he read also in Rouletabille’s eye all the +extraordinary confidence that the mere boy had in himself. As a last +consideration had he not already something in hand in circumstances +where all the police of the world had admitted themselves vanquished? +Koupriane pressed Rouletabille’s hand and said just one word to him: + +“Remain.” + +Having saluted the general and Matrena affectionately, and a group of +friends in one courteous sweep, he departed, with thoughtful brow. + +During all this time the general, enchanted with the promenade, told +stories of the Caucasus to his friends, believing himself young again +and re-living his nights as sub-lieutenant at Tills. As to Natacha, +no one had seen her. They retraced the way to the villa along deserted +by-paths. Koupriane’s call made occasion for Athanase Georgevitch and +Thaddeus, and the two officers also, to say that he was the only honest +man in all the Russian police, and that Matrena Petrovna was a great +woman to have dared rid herself of the entire clique of agents, who +are often more revolutionary than the Nihilists themselves. Thus they +arrived at the datcha. + +The general inquired for Natacha, not understanding why she had left him +thus during his first venture out. The schwitzar replied that the young +mistress had returned to the house and had left again about a quarter +of an hour later, taking the way that the party had gone on their +promenade, and he had not seen her since. + +Boris spoke up: + +“She must have passed on the other side of the carriages while we were +behind the trees, general, and not seeing us she has gone on her way, +making the round of the island, over as far as the Barque.” + +The explanation seemed the most plausible one. + +“Has anyone else been here?” demanded Matrena, forcing her voice to +be calm. Rouletabille saw her hand tremble on the handle of the +rolling-chair, which she had not quitted for a second during all the +promenade, refusing aid from the officers, the friends, and even from +Rouletabille. + +“First there came the Head of Police, who told me he would go and find +you, Barinia, and right after, His Excellency the Marshal of the Court. +His Excellency will return, although he is very pressed for time, before +he takes the train at seven o’clock for Krasnoie-Coelo.” + +All this had been said in Russian, naturally, but Matrena translated the +words of the schwitzar into French in a low voice for Rouletabille, who +was near her. The general during this time had taken Rouletabille’s hand +and pressed it affectionately, as if, in that mute way, to thank him for +all the young man had done for them. Feodor himself also had confidence, +and he was grateful for the freer air that he was being allowed +to breathe. It seemed to him that he was emerging from prison. +Nevertheless, as the promenade had been a little fatiguing, Matrena +ordered him to go and rest immediately. Athanase and Thaddeus took their +leave. The two officers were already at the end of the garden, talking +coldly, and almost confronting one another, like wooden soldiers. +Without doubt they were arranging the conditions of an encounter to +settle their little difference at once. + +The schwitzar gathered the general into his great arms and carried him +into the veranda. Feodor demanded five minutes’ respite before he was +taken upstairs to his chamber. Matrena Petrovna had a light luncheon +brought at his request. In truth, the good woman trembled with +impatience and hardly dared move without consulting Rouletabille’s +face. While the general talked with Ermolai, who passed him his tea, +Rouletabille made a sign to Matrena that she understood at once. She +joined the young man in the drawing-room. + +“Madame,” he said rapidly, in a low voice, “you must go at once to see +what has happened there.” + +He pointed to the dining-room. + +“Very well.” + +It was pitiful to watch her. + +“Go, madame, with courage.” + +“Why don’t you come with me?” + +“Because, madame, I have something to do elsewhere. Give me the keys of +the next floor.” + +“No, no. What for?” + +“Not a second’s delay, for the love of Heaven. Do what I tell you on +your side, and let me do mine. The keys! Come, the keys!” + +He snatched them rather than took them, and pointed a last time to +the dining-room with a gesture so commanding that she did not hesitate +further. She entered the dining-room, shaking, while he bounded to the +upper floor. He was not long. He took only time to open the doors, throw +a glance into the general’s chamber, a single glance, and to return, +letting a cry of joy escape him, borrowed from his new and very limited +accomplishment of Russian, “Caracho!” + +How Rouletabille, who had not spent half a second examining the +general’s chamber, was able to be certain that all went well on that +side, when it took Matrena--and that how many times a day!--at least +a quarter of an hour of ferreting in all the corners each time she +explored her house before she was even inadequately reassured, was +a question. If that dear heroic woman had been with him during this +“instant information” she would have received such a shock that, with +all confidence gone, she would have sent for Koupriane immediately, +and all his agents, reinforced by the personnel of the Okrana (Secret +Police). Rouletabille at once rejoined the general, whistling. Feodor +and Ermolai were deep in conversation about the Orel country. The young +man did not disturb them. Then, soon, Matrena reappeared. He saw her +come in quite radiant. He handed back her keys, and she took them +mechanically. She was overjoyed and did not try to hide it. The general +himself noticed it, and asked what had made her so. + +“It is my happiness over our first promenade since we arrived at the +datcha des Iles,” she explained. “And now you must go upstairs to bed, +Feodor. You will pass a good night, I am sure.” + +“I can sleep only if you sleep, Matrena.” + +“I promise you. It is quite possible now that we have our dear little +domovoi. You know, Feodor, that he smokes his pipe just like the dear +little porcelain domovoi.” + +“He does resemble him, he certainly does,” said Feodor. “That makes us +feel happy, but I wish him to sleep also.” + +“Yes, yes,” smiled Rouletabille, “everybody will sleep here. That is the +countersign. We have watched enough. Since the police are gone we can +all sleep, believe me, general.” + +“Eh, eh, I believe you, on my word, easily enough. There were only they +in the house capable of attempting that affair of the bouquet. I +have thought that all out, and now I am at ease. And anyway, whatever +happens, it is necessary to get sleep, isn’t it? The chances of war! +Nichevo!” He pressed Rouletabille’s hand, and Matrena Petrovna took, +as was her habit, Feodor Feodorovitch on her back and lugged him to his +chamber. In that also she refused aid from anyone. The general clung to +his wife’s neck during the ascent and laughed like a child. Rouletabille +remained in the hallway, watching the garden attentively. Ermolai walked +out of the villa and crossed the garden, going to meet a personage in +uniform whom the young man recognized immediately as the grand-marshal +of the court, who had introduced him to the Tsar. Ermolai informed him +that Madame Matrena was engaged in helping her husband retire, and the +marshal remained at the end of the garden where he had found Michael and +Boris talking in the kiosque. All three remained there for some time +in conversation, standing by a table where General and Madame Trebassof +sometimes dined when they had no guests. As they talked the marshal +played with a box of white cardboard tied with a pink string. At this +moment Matrena, who had not been able to resist the desire to talk for +a moment with Rouletabille and tell him how happy she was, rejoined the +young man. + +“Little domovoi,” said she, laying her hand on his shoulder, “you have +not watched on this side?” + +She pointed in her turn to the dining-room. + +“No, no. You have seen it, madame, and I am sufficiently informed.” + +“Perfectly. There is nothing. No one has worked there! No one has +touched the board. I knew it. I am sure of it. It is dreadful what we +have thought about it! Oh, you do not know how relieved and happy I +am. Ah, Natacha, Natacha, I have not loved you in vain. (She pronounced +these words in accents of great beauty and tragic sincerity.) When I saw +her leave us, my dear, ah, my legs sank under me. When she said, ‘I have +forgotten something; I must hurry back,’ I felt I had not the strength +to go a single step. But now I certainly am happy, that weight at least +is off my heart, off my heart, dear little domovoi, because of you, +because of you.” + +She embraced him, and then ran away, like one possessed, to resume her +post near the general. + +Notes in Rouletabille’s memorandum-book: The affair of the little cavity +under the floor not having been touched again proves nothing for or +against Natacha (even though that excellent Matrena Petrovna thinks +so). Natacha could very well have been warned by the too great care with +which Madame Matrena watched the floor. My opinion, since I saw Matrena +lift the carpet the first time without any real precaution, is that they +have definitely abandoned the preparation of that attack and are trying +to account for the secret becoming known. What Matrena feels so sure +of is that the trap I laid by the promenade to the Point was against +Natacha particularly. I knew beforehand that Natacha would absent +herself during the promenade. I’m not looking for anything new from +Natacha, but what I did need was to be sure that Matrena didn’t detest +Natacha, and that she had not faked the preparations for an attack under +the floor in such a way as to throw almost certain suspicion on her +step-daughter. I am sure about that now. Matrena is innocent of such a +thing, the poor dear soul. If Matrena had been a monster the occasion +was too good. Natacha’s absence, her solitary presence for a quarter of +an hour in the empty villa, all would have urged Matrena, whom I sent +alone to search under the carpet in the dining-room, to draw the last +nails from the board if she was really guilty of having drawn the +others. Natacha would have been lost then! Matrena returned sincerely, +tragically happy at not having found anything new, and now I have the +material proof that I needed. Morally and physically Matrena is removed +from it. So I am going to speak to her about the hat-pin. I believe that +the matter is urgent on that side rather than on the side of the nails +in the floor. + + + + + +VI. THE MYSTERIOUS HAND + +After the departure of Matrena, Rouletabille turned his attention to the +garden. Neither the marshal of the court nor the officers were there any +longer. The three men had disappeared. Rouletabille wished to know +at once where they had gone. He went rapidly to the gate, named the +officers and the marshal to Ermolai, and Ermolai made a sign that they +had passed out. Even as he spoke he saw the marshal’s carriage disappear +around a corner of the road. As to the two officers, they were nowhere +on the roadway. He was surprised that the marshal should have gone +without seeing Matrena or the general or himself, and, above all, he was +disquieted by the disappearance of the orderlies. He gathered from the +gestures of Ermolai that they had passed before the lodge only a +few minutes after the marshal’s departure. They had gone together. +Rouletabille set himself to follow them, traced their steps in the soft +earth of the roadway and soon they crossed onto the grass. At this point +the tracks through the massed ferns became very difficult to follow. He +hurried along, bending close to the ground over such traces as he could +see, which continually led him astray, but which conducted him finally +to the thing that he sought. A noise of voices made him raise his head +and then throw himself behind a tree. Not twenty steps from him Natacha +and Boris were having an animated conversation. The young officer held +himself erect directly in front of her, frowning and impatient. Under +the uniform cloak that he had wrapped about him without having bothered +to use the sleeves, which were tossed up over his chest, Boris had +his arms crossed. His entire attitude indicated hauteur, coldness and +disdain for what he was hearing. Natacha never appeared calmer or more +mistress of herself. She talked to him rapidly and mostly in a low +voice. Sometimes a word in Russian sounded, and then she resumed her +care to speak low. Finally she ceased, and Boris, after a short silence, +in which he had seemed to reflect deeply, pronounced distinctly these +words in French, pronouncing them syllable by syllable, as though to +give them additional force: + +“You ask a frightful thing of me.” + +“It is necessary to grant it to me,” said the young girl with singular +energy. “You understand, Boris Alexandrovitch! It is necessary.” + +Her gaze, after she had glanced penetratingly all around her and +discovered nothing suspicious, rested tenderly on the young officer, +while she murmured, “My Boris!” The young man could not resist either +the sweetness of that voice, nor the captivating charm of that glance. +He took the hand she extended toward him and kissed it passionately. His +eyes, fixed on Natacha, proclaimed that he granted everything that she +wished and admitted himself vanquished. Then she said, always with that +adorable gaze upon him, “This evening!” He replied, “Yes, yes. This +evening! This evening!” upon which Natacha withdrew her hand and made a +sign to the officer to leave, which he promptly obeyed. Natacha remained +there still a long time, plunged in thought. Rouletabille had already +taken the road back to the villa. Matrena Petrovna was watching for his +return, seated on the first step of the landing on the great staircase +which ran up from the veranda. When she saw him she ran to him. He had +already reached the dining-room. + +“Anyone in the house?” he asked. + +“No one. Natacha has not returned, and...” + +“Your step-daughter is coming in now. Ask her where she has been, if she +has seen the orderlies, and if they said they would return this evening, +in case she answers that she has seen them.” + +“Very well, little domovoi doukh. The orderlies left without my seeing +when they went.” + +“Ah,” interrupted Rouletabille, “before she arrives, give me all her +hat-pins.” + +“What!” + +“I say, all her hat-pins. Quickly!” + +Matrena ran to Natacha’s chamber and returned with three enormous +hat-pins with beautifully-cut stones in them. + +“These are all?” + +“They are all I have found. I know she has two others. She has one on +her head, or two, perhaps; I can’t find them.” + +“Take these back where you found them,” said the reporter, after +glancing at them. + +Matrena returned immediately, not understanding what he was doing. + +“And now, your hat-pins. Yes, your hat-pins.” + +“Oh, I have only two, and here they are,” said she, drawing them from +the toque she had been wearing and had thrown on the sofa when she +re-entered the house. + +Rouletabille gave hers the same inspection. + +“Thanks. Here is your step-daughter.” + +Natacha entered, flushed and smiling. + +“Ah, well,” said she, quite breathless, “you may boast that I had to +search for you. I made the entire round, clear past the Barque. Has the +promenade done papa good?” + +“Yes, he is asleep,” replied Matrena. “Have you met Boris and Michael?” + +She appeared to hesitate a second, then replied: + +“Yes, for an instant.” + +“Did they say whether they would return this evening?” + +“No,” she replied, slightly troubled. “Why all these questions?” + +She flushed still more. + +“Because I thought it strange,” parried Matrena, “that they went away +as they did, without saying goodby, without a word, without inquiring +if the general needed them. There is something stranger yet. Did you see +Kaltsof with them, the grand-marshal of the court?” + +“No.” + +“Kaltsof came for a moment, entered the garden and went away again +without seeing us, without saying even a word to the general.” + +“Ah,” said Natacha. + +With apparent indifference, she raised her arms and drew out her +hat-pins. Rouletabille watched the pin without a word. The young girl +hardly seemed aware of their presence. Entirely absorbed in strange +thoughts, she replaced the pin in her hat and went to hang it in the +veranda, which served also as vestibule. Rouletabille never quitted her +eyes. Matrena watched the reporter with a stupid glance. Natacha crossed +the drawing-room and entered her chamber by passing through her little +sitting-room, through which all entrance to her chamber had to be made. +That little room, though, had three doors. One opened into Natacha’s +chamber, one into the drawing-room, and the third into the little +passage in a corner of the house where was the stairway by which the +servants passed from the kitchens to the ground-floor and the +upper floor. This passage had also a door giving directly upon the +drawing-room. It was certainly a poor arrangement for serving the +dining-room, which was on the other side of the drawing-room and behind +the veranda, such a chance laying-out of a house as one often sees in +the off-hand planning of many places in the country. + +Alone again with Rouletabille, Matrena noticed that he had not lost +sight of the corner of the veranda where Natacha had hung her hat. +Beside this hat there was a toque that Ermolai had brought in. The old +servant had found it in some corner of the garden or the conservatory +where he had been. A hat-pin stuck out of that toque also. + +“Whose toque is that?” asked Rouletabille. “I haven’t seen it on the +head of anyone here.” + +“It is Natacha’s,” replied Matrena. + +She moved toward it, but the young man held her back, went into the +veranda himself, and, without touching it, standing on tiptoe, he +examined the pin. He sank back on his heels and turned toward Matrena. +She caught a glimpse of fleeting emotion on the face of her little +friend. + +“Explain to me,” she said. + +But he gave her a glance that frightened her, and said low: + +“Go and give orders right away that dinner be served in the veranda. +All through dinner it is absolutely necessary that the door of Natacha’s +sitting-room, and that of the stairway passage, and that of the veranda +giving on the drawing-room remain open all the time. Do you understand +me? As soon as you have given your orders go to the general’s chamber +and do not quit the general’s bedside, keep it in view. Come down to +dinner when it is announced, and do not bother yourself about anything +further.” + +So saying, he filled his pipe, lighted it with a sort of sigh of relief, +and, after a final order to Matrena, “Go,” he went into the garden, +puffing great clouds. Anyone would have said he hadn’t smoked in a week. +He appeared not to be thinking but just idly enjoying himself. In fact, +he played like a child with Milinki, Matrena’s pet cat, which he pursued +behind the shrubs, up into the little kiosque which, raised on piles, +lifted its steep thatched roof above the panorama of the isles that +Rouletabille settled down to contemplate like an artist with ample +leisure. + +The dinner, where Matrena, Natacha and Rouletabille were together again, +was lively. The young man having declared that he was more and more +convinced that the mystery of the bomb in the bouquet was simply a play +of the police, Natacha reinforced his opinion, and following that they +found themselves in agreement on about everything else. For himself, the +reporter during that conversation hid a real horror which had seized him +at the cynical and inappropriate tranquillity with which the young lady +received all suggestions that accused the police or that assumed the +general no longer ran any immediate danger. In short, he worked, or at +least believed he worked, to clear Natacha as he had cleared Matrena, +so that there would develop the absolute necessity of assuming a third +person’s intervention in the facts disclosed so clearly by Koupriane +where Matrena or Natacha seemed alone to be possible agents. As he +listened to Natacha Rouletabille commenced to doubt and quake just as he +had seen Matrena do. The more he looked into the nature of Natacha the +dizzier he grew. What abysmal obscurities were there in her nature! + +Nothing interesting happened during dinner. Several times, in spite of +Rouletabille’s obvious impatience with her for doing it, Matrena went up +to the general. She returned saying, “He is quiet. He doesn’t sleep. He +doesn’t wish anything. He has asked me to prepare his narcotic. It is +too bad. He has tried in vain, he cannot get along without it.” + +“You, too, mamma, ought to take something to make you sleep. They say +morphine is very good.” + +“As for me,” said Rouletabille, whose head for some few minutes had been +dropping now toward one shoulder and now toward another, “I have no need +of any narcotic to make me sleep. If you will permit me, I will get to +bed at once.” + +“Eh, my little domovoi doukh, I am going to carry you there in my arms.” + +Matrena extended her large round arms ready to take Rouletabille as +though he had been a baby. + +“No, no. I will get up there all right alone,” said Rouletabille, rising +stupidly and appearing ashamed of his excessive sleepiness. + +“Oh, well, let us both accompany him to his chamber,” said Natacha, “and +I will wish papa good-night. I’m eager for bed myself. We will all make +a good night of it. Ermolai and Gniagnia will watch with the schwitzar +in the lodge. Things are reasonably arranged now.” + +They all ascended the stairs. Rouletabille did not even go to see the +general, but threw himself on his bed. Natacha got onto the bed beside +her father, embraced him a dozen times, and went downstairs again. +Matrena followed behind her, closed doors and windows, went upstairs +again to close the door of the landing-place and found Rouletabille +seated on his bed, his arms crossed, not appearing to have any desire +for sleep at all. His face was so strangely pensive also that the +anxiety of Matrena, who had been able to make nothing out of his acts +and looks all day, came back upon her instantly in greater force than +ever. She touched his arm in order to be sure that he knew she was +there. + +“My little friend,” she said, “will you tell me now?” + +“Yes, madame,” he replied at once. “Sit in that chair and listen to +me. There are things you must know at once, because we have reached a +dangerous hour.” + +“The hat-pins first. The hat-pins!” + +Rouletabille rose lightly from the bed and, facing her, but watching +something besides her, said: + +“It is necessary you should know that someone almost immediately is +going to renew the attempt of the bouquet.” + +Matrena sprang to her feet as quickly as though she had been told there +was a bomb in the seat of her chair. She made herself sit down again, +however, in obedience to Rouletabille’s urgent look commanding absolute +quiet. + +“Renew the attempt of the bouquet!” she murmured in a stifled voice. +“But there is not a flower in the general’s chamber.” + +“Be calm, madame. Understand me and answer me: You heard the tick-tack +from the bouquet while you were in your own chamber?” + +“Yes, with the doors open, naturally.” + +“You told me the persons who came to say good-night to the general. At +that time there was no noise of tick-tack?” + +“No, no.” + +“Do you think that if there had been any tick-tack then you would have +heard it, with all those persons talking in the room?” + +“I hear everything. I hear everything.” + +“Did you go downstairs at the same time those people did?” + +“No, no; I remained near the general for some time, until he was sound +asleep.” + +“And you heard nothing?” + +“Nothing.” + +“You closed the doors behind those persons?” + +“Yes, the door to the great staircase. The door of the servants’ +stairway was condemned a long time ago; it has been locked by me, +I alone have the key and on the inside of the door opening into the +general’s chamber there is also a bolt which is always shot. All the +other doors of the chambers have been condemned by me. In order to enter +any of the four rooms on this floor it is necessary now to pass by the +door of my chamber, which gives on the main staircase.” + +“Perfect. Then, no one has been able to enter the apartment. No one +had been in the apartment for at least two hours excepting you and the +general, when you heard the clockwork. From that the only conclusion is +that only the general and you could have started it going.” + +“What are you trying to say?” Matrena demanded, astounded. + +“I wish to prove to you by this absurd conclusion, madame, that it is +necessary never--never, you understand? Never--to reason solely upon +even the most evident external evidence when those seemingly-conclusive +appearances are in conflict with certain moral truths that also are +clear as the light of day. The light of day for me, madame, is that the +general does not desire to commit suicide and, above all, that he would +not choose the strange method of suicide by clockwork. The light of +day for me is that you adore your husband and that you are ready to +sacrifice your life for his.” + +“Now!” exclaimed Matrena, whose tears, always ready in emotional moments, +flowed freely. “But, Holy Mary, why do you speak to me without looking +at me? What is it? What is it?” + +“Don’t turn! Don’t make a movement! You hear--not a move! And speak low, +very low. And don’t cry, for the love of God!” + +“But you say at once... the bouquet! Come to the general’s room!” + +“Not a move. And continue listening to me without interrupting,” said +he, still inclining his ear, and still without looking at her. “It +is because these things were as the light of day to me that I say to +myself, ‘It is impossible that it should be impossible for a third +person not to have placed the bomb in the bouquet. Someone is able to +enter the general’s chamber even when the general is watching and all +the doors are locked.’” + +“Oh, no. No one could possibly enter. I swear it to you.” + +As she swore it a little too loudly, Rouletabille seized her arm so that +she almost cried out, but she understood instantly that it was to keep +her quiet. + +“I tell you not to interrupt me, once for all.” + +“But, then, tell me what you are looking at like that.” + +“I am watching the corner where someone is going to enter the general’s +chamber when everything is locked, madame. Do not move!” + +Matrena, her teeth chattering, recalled that when she entered +Rouletabille’s chamber she had found all the doors open that +communicated with the chain of rooms: the young man’s chamber with +hers, the dressing-room and the general’s chamber. She tried, under +Rouletabille’s look, to keep calm, but in spite of all the reporter’s +exhortations she could not hold her tongue. + +“But which way? Where will they enter?” + +“By the door.” + +“Which door?” + +“That of the chamber giving on the servants’ stair-way.” + +“Why, how? The key! The bolt!” + +“They have made a key.” + +“But the bolt is drawn this side.” + +“They will draw it back from the other side.” + +“What! That is impossible.” + +Rouletabille laid his two hands on Matrena’s strong shoulders and +repeated, detaching each syllable, “They will draw it back from the +other side.” + +“It is impossible. I repeat it.” + +“Madame, your Nihilists haven’t invented anything. It is a trick much +in vogue with sneak thieves in hotels. All it needs is a little hole the +size of a pin bored in the panel of the door above the bolt.” + +“God!” quavered Matrena. “I don’t understand what you mean by your +little hole. Explain to me, little domovoi.” + +“Follow me carefully, then,” continued Rouletabille, his eyes all the +time fixed elsewhere. “The person who wishes to enter sticks through the +hole a brass wire that he has already given the necessary curve to and +which is fitted on its end with a light point of steel curved inward. +With such an instrument it is child’s play, if the hole has been made +where it ought to be, to touch the bolt on the inside from the outside, +pick the knob on it, withdraw it, and open the door if the bolt is like +this one, a small door-bolt.” + +“Oh, oh, oh,” moaned Matrena, who paled visibly. “And that hole?” + +“It exists.” + +“You have discovered it?” + +“Yes, the first hour I was here.” + +“Oh, domovoi! But how did you do that when you never entered the +general’s chamber until to-night?” + +“Doubtless, but I went up that servants’ staircase much earlier than +that. And I will tell you why. When I was brought into the villa the +first time, and you watched me, bidden behind the door, do you know what +I was watching myself, while I appeared to be solely occupied digging +out the caviare? The fresh print of boot-nails which left the carpet +near the table, where someone had spilled beer (the beer was still +running down the cloth). Someone had stepped in the beer. The boot-print +was not clearly visible excepting there. But from there it went to the +door of the servants’ stairway and mounted the stairs. That boot was too +fine to be mounting a stairway reserved to servants and that Koupriane +told me had been condemned, and it was that made me notice it in a +moment; but just then you entered.” + +“You never told me anything about it. Of course if I had known there was +a boot-print...” + +“I didn’t tell you anything about it because I had my reasons for that, +and, anyway, the trace dried while I was telling you about my journey.” + +“Ah, why not have told me later?” + +“Because I didn’t know you yet.” + +“Subtle devil! You will kill me. I can no longer... Let us go into the +general’s chamber. We will wake him.” + +“Remain here. Remain here. I have not told you anything. That boot-print +preoccupied me, and later, when I could get away from the dining-room, +I was not easy until I had climbed that stairway myself and gone to see +that door, where I discovered what I have just told you and what I am +going to tell you now.” + +“What? What? In all you have said there has been nothing about the +hat-pins.” + +“We have come to them now.” + +“And the bouquet attack, which is going to happen again? Why? Why?” + +“This is it. When this evening you let me go to the general’s chamber, I +examined the bolt of the door without your suspecting it. My opinion was +confirmed. It was that way that the bomb was brought, and it is by that +way that someone has prepared to return.” + +“But how? You are sure the little hole is the way someone came? But what +makes you think that is how they mean to return? You know well enough +that, not having succeeded in the general’s chamber, they are at work in +the dining-room.” + +“Madame, it is probable, it is certain that they have given up the work +in the dining-room since they have commenced this very day working again +in the general’s chamber. Yes, someone returned, returned that way, and +I was so sure of that, of the forthcoming return, that I removed the +police in order to be able to study everything more at my ease. Do you +understand now my confidence and why I have been able to assume so heavy +a responsibility? It is because I knew I had only one thing to watch: +one little hat-pin. It is not difficult, madame, to watch a single +little hat-pin.” + +“A mistake,” said Matrena, in a low voice. “Miserable little domovoi who +told me nothing, me whom you let go to sleep on my mattress, in front of +that door that might open any moment.” + +“No, madame. For I was behind it!” + +“Ah, dear little holy angel! But what were you thinking of! That door +has not been watched this afternoon. In our absence it could have been +opened. If someone has placed a bomb during our absence!” + +“That is why I sent you at once in to the dining-room on that search +that I thought would be fruitless, dear madame. And that is why I +hurried upstairs to the bedroom. I went to the stairway door instantly. +I had prepared for proof positive if anyone had pushed it open even half +a millimeter. No, no one had touched the door in our absence. + +“Ah, dear heroic little friend of Jesus! But listen to me. Listen to me, +my angel. Ah, I don’t know where I am or what I say. My brain is no +more than a flabby balloon punctured with pins, with little holes of +hat-pins. Tell me about the hat-pins. Right off! No, at first, what is +it that makes you believe--good God!--that someone will return by that +door? How can you see that, all that, in a poor little hat-pin?” + +“Madame, it is not a single hat-pin hole; there are two of them. + +“Two hat-pin holes?” + +“Yes, two. An old one and a new one. One quite new. Why this second +hole? Because the old one was judged a little too narrow and they wished +to enlarge it, and in enlarging it they broke off the point of a hat-pin +in it. Madame, the point is there yet, filling up the little old hole +and the piece of metal is very sharp and very bright.” + +“Now I understand the examination of the hat-pins. Then it is so easy as +that to get through a door with a hat-pin?” + +“Nothing easier, especially if the panel is of pine. Sometimes one +happens to break the point of a pin in the first hole. Then of necessity +one makes a second. In order to commence the second hole, the point of +the pin being broken, they have used the point of a pen-knife, then have +finished the hole with the hat-pin. The second hole is still nearer the +bolt than the first one. Don’t move like that, madame.” + +“But they are going to come! They are going to come!” + +“I believe so.” + +“But I can’t understand how you can remain so quiet with such a +certainty. Great heavens! what proof have you that they have not been +there already?” + +“Just an ordinary pin, madame, not a hat-pin this time. Don’t confuse +the pins. I will show you in a little while.” + +“He will drive me distracted with his pins, dear light of my eyes! +Bounty of Heaven! God’s envoy! Dear little happiness-bearer!” + +In her transport she tried to take him in her trembling arms, but he +waved her back. She caught her breath and resumed: + +“Did the examination of all the hat-pins tell you anything?” + +“Yes. The fifth hat-pin of Mademoiselle Natacha’s, the one in the toque +out in the veranda, has the tip newly broken off.” + +“O misery!” cried Matrena, crumpling in her chair. + +Rouletabille raised her. + +“What would you have? I have examined your own hat-pins. Do you think +I would have suspected you if I had found one of them broken? I +would simply have thought that someone had used your property for an +abominable purpose, that is all.” + +“Oh, that is true, that is true. Pardon me. Mother of Christ, this boy +crazes me! He consoles me and he horrifies me. He makes me think of such +dreadful things, and then he reassures me. He does what he wishes with +me. What should I become without him?” + +And this time she succeeded in taking his head in her two hands and +kissing him passionately. Rouletabille pushed her back roughly. + +“You keep me from seeing,” he said. + +She was in tears over his rebuff. She understood now. Rouletabille +during all this conversation had not ceased to watch through the open +doors of Matrena’s room and the dressing-room the farther fatal door +whose brass bolt shone in the yellow light of the night-lamp. + +At last he made her a sign and the reporter, followed by Matrena, +advanced on tip-toe to the threshold of the general’s chamber, keeping +close to the wall. Feodor Feodorovitch slept. They heard his heavy +breath, but he appeared to be enjoying peaceful sleep. The horrors of +the night before had fled. Matrena was perhaps right in attributing the +nightmares to the narcotic prepared for him each night, for the glass +from which he drank it when he felt he could not sleep was still full +and obviously had not been touched. The bed of the general was so placed +that whoever occupied it, even if they were wide awake, could not see +the door giving on the servants’ stairway. The little table where the +glass and various phials were placed and which had borne the dangerous +bouquet, was placed near the bed, a little back of it, and nearer the +door. Nothing would have been easier than for someone who could open +the door to stretch an arm and place the infernal machine among the wild +flowers, above all, as could easily be believed, if he had waited +for that treachery until the heavy breathing of the general told them +outside that he was fast asleep, and if, looking through the key-hole, +he had made sure Matrena was occupied in her own chamber. Rouletabille, +at the threshold, glided to one side, out of the line of view from the +hole, and got down on all fours. He crawled toward the door. With his +head to the floor he made sure that the little ordinary pin which he had +placed on guard that evening, stuck in the floor against the door, was +still erect, having thus additional proof that the door had not been +moved. In any other case the pin would have lain flat on the floor. He +crept back, rose to his feet, passed into the dressing-room and, in a +corner, had a rapid conversation in a low voice with Matrena. + +“You will go,” said he, “and take your mattress into the corner of the +dressing-room where you can still see the door but no one can see you +by looking through the key-hole. Do that quite naturally, and then go +to your rest. I will pass the night on the mattress, and I beg you to +believe that I will be more comfortable there than on a bed of staircase +wood where I spent the night last night, behind the door.” + +“Yes, but you will fall asleep. I don’t wish that.” + +“What are you thinking, madame?” + +“I don’t wish it. I don’t wish it. I don’t wish to quit the door where +the eye is. And since I’m not able to sleep, let me watch.” + +He did not insist, and they crouched together on the mattress. +Rouletabille was squatted like a tailor at work; but Matrena remained on +all-fours, her jaw out, her eyes fixed, like a bulldog ready to spring. +The minutes passed by in profound silence, broken only by the irregular +breathing and puffing of the general. His face stood out pallid and +tragic on the pillow; his mouth was open and, at times, the lips +moved. There was fear at any moment of nightmare or his awakening. +Unconsciously he threw an arm over toward the table where the glass +of narcotic stood. Then he lay still again and snored lightly. The +night-lamp on the mantelpiece caught queer yellow reflections from the +corners of the furniture, from the gilded frame of a picture on the wall +and from the phials and glasses on the table. But in all the chamber +Matrena Petrovna saw nothing, thought of nothing but the brass bolt +which shone there on the door. Tired of being on her knees, she shifted, +her chin in her hands, her gaze steadily fixed. As time passed and +nothing happened she heaved a sigh. She could not have said whether she +hoped for or dreaded the coming of that something new which Rouletabille +had indicated. Rouletabille felt her shiver with anguish and impatience. + +As for him, he had not hoped that anything would come to pass until +toward dawn, the moment, as everyone knows, when deep sleep is most apt +to vanquish all watchfulness and all insomnia. And as he waited for that +moment he had not budged any more than a Chinese ape or the dear little +porcelain domovoi doukh in the garden. Of course it might be that it was +not to happen this night. + +Suddenly Matrena’s hand fell on Rouletabille’s. His imprisoned hers so +firmly that she understood she was forbidden to make the least movement. +And both, with necks extended, ears erect, watched like beasts, like +beasts on the scent. + +Yes, yes, there had been a slight noise in the lock. A key turned, +softly, softly, in the lock, and then--silence; and then another little +noise, a grinding sound, a slight grating of wire, above, then on the +bolt; upon the bolt which shone in the subdued glow of the night-lamp. +The bolt softly, very softly, slipped slowly. + +Then the door was pushed slowly, so slowly. It opened. + +Through the opening the shadow of an arm stretched, an arm which held +in its fingers something which shone. Rouletabille felt Matrena ready to +bound. He encircled her, he pressed her in his arms, he restrained her +in silence, and he had a horrible fear of hearing her suddenly shout, +while the arm stretched out, almost touched the pillow on the bed where +the general continued to sleep a sleep of peace such as he had not known +for a long time. + + + + + +VII. ARSENATE OF SODA + +The mysterious hand held a phial and poured the entire contents into the +potion. Then the hand withdrew as it had come, slowly, prudently, slyly, +and the key turned in the lock and the bolt slipped back into place. + +Like a wolf, Rouletabille, warning Matrena for a last time not to budge, +gained the landing-place, bounded towards the stairs, slid down the +banister right to the veranda, crossed the drawing-room like a flash, +and reached the little sitting-room without having jostled a single +piece of furniture. He noticed nothing, saw nothing. All around was +undisturbed and silent. + +The first light of dawn filtered through the blinds. He was able to +make out that the only closed door was the one to Natacha’s chamber. He +stopped before that door, his heart beating, and listened. But no sound +came to his ear. He had glided so lightly over the carpet that he was +sure he had not been heard. Perhaps that door would open. He waited. In +vain. It seemed to him there was nothing alive in that house except his +heart. He was stifled with the horror that he glimpsed, that he almost +touched, although that door remained closed. He felt along the wall +in order to reach the window, and pulled aside the curtain. Window and +blinds of the little room giving on the Neva were closed. The bar of +iron inside was in its place. Then he went to the passage, mounted and +descended the narrow servants’ stairway, looked all about, in all the +rooms, feeling everywhere with silent hands, assuring himself that no +lock had been tampered with. On his return to the veranda, as he raised +his head, he saw at the top of the main staircase a figure wan as death, +a spectral apparition amid the shadows of the passing night, who leaned +toward him. It was Matrena Petrovna. She came down, silent as a phantom +and he no longer recognized her voice when she demanded of him, “Where? +I require that you tell me. Where?” + +“I have looked everywhere,” he said, so low that Matrena had to come +nearer to understand his whisper. “Everything is shut tight. And there +is no one about.” + +Matrena looked at Rouletabille with all the power of her eyes, as though +she would discover his inmost thoughts, but his clear glance did not +waver, and she saw there was nothing he wished to hide. Then Matrena +pointed her finger at Natacha’s chamber. + +“You have not gone in there?” she inquired. + +He replied, “It is not necessary to enter there.” + +“I will enter there, myself, nevertheless,” said she, and she set her +teeth. + +He barred her way with his arms spread out. + +“If you hold the life of someone dear,” said he, “don’t go a step +farther.” + +“But the person is in that chamber. The person is there! It is there +you will find out!” And she waved him aside with a gesture as though she +were sleepwalking. + +To recall her to the reality of what he had said to her and to make her +understand what he desired, he had to grip her wrist in the vice of his +nervous hand. + +“The person is not there, perhaps,” he said, shaking his head. “Understand me +now.” + +But she did not understand him. She said: + +“Since the person is nowhere else, the person must be there.” + +But Rouletabille continued obstinately: + +“No, no. Perhaps he is gone.” + +“Gone! And everything locked on the inside!” + +“That is not a reason,” he replied. + +But she could not follow his thoughts any further. She wished absolutely +to make her way into Natacha’s chamber. The obsession of that was upon +her. + +“If you enter there,” said he, “and if (as is most probable) you don’t +find what you seek there, all is lost! And as to me, I give up the whole +thing.” + +She sank in a heap onto a chair. + +“Don’t despair,” he murmured. “We don’t know for sure yet.” + +She shook her poor old head dejectedly. + +“We know that only she is here, since no one has been able to enter and +since no one has been able to leave.” + +That, in truth, filled her brain, prevented her from discerning in any +corner of her mind the thought of Rouletabille. Then the impossible +dialogue resumed. + +“I repeat that we do not know but that the person has gone,” repeated +the reporter, and demanded her keys. + +“Foolish,” she said. “What do you want them for?” + +“To search outside as we have searched inside.” + +“Why, everything is locked on the inside!” + +“Madame, once more, that is no reason that the person may not be +outside.” + +He consumed five minutes opening the door of the veranda, so many were +his precautions. She watched him impatiently. + +He whispered to her: + +“I am going out, but don’t you lose sight of the little sitting-room. At +the least movement call me; fire a revolver if you need to.” + +He slipped into the garden with the same precautions for silence. From +the corner that she kept to, through the doors left open, Matrena could +follow all the movements of the reporter and watch Natacha’s chamber +at the same time. The attitude of Rouletabille continued to confuse her +beyond all expression. She watched what he did as if she thought him +besotted. The dyernick on guard out in the roadway also watched the +young man through the bars of the gate in consternation, as though he +thought him a fool. Along the paths of beaten earth or cement which +offered no chance for footprints Rouletabille hurried silently. Around +him he noted that the grass of the lawn had not been trodden. And then +he paid no more attention to his steps. He seemed to study attentively +the rosy color in the east, breathing the delicacy of dawning morning in +the Isles, amid the silence of the earth, which still slumbered. + +Bare-headed, face thrown back, hands behind his back, eyes raised and +fixed, he made a few steps, then suddenly stopped as if he had been +given an electric shock. As soon as he seemed to have recovered from +that shock he turned around and went a few steps back to another path, +into which he advanced, straight ahead, his face high, with the same +fixed look that he had had up to the time he so suddenly stopped, as +if something or someone advised or warned him not to go further. He +continually worked back toward the house, and thus he traversed all the +paths that led from the villa, but in all these excursions he took pains +not to place himself in the field of vision from Natacha’s window, a +restricted field because of its location just around an abutment of the +building. To ascertain about this window he crept on all-fours up to the +garden-edge that ran along the foot of the wall and had sufficient proof +that no one had jumped out that way. Then he went to rejoin Matrena in +the veranda. + +“No one has come into the garden this morning,” said he, “and no one has +gone out of the villa into the garden. Now I am going to look outside +the grounds. Wait here; I’ll be back in five minutes.” + +He went away, knocked discreetly on the window of the lodge and waited +some seconds. Ermolai came out and opened the gate for him. Matrena +moved to the threshold of the little sitting-room and watched Natacha’s +door with horror. She felt her legs give under her, she could not stand +up under the diabolic thought of such a crime. Ah, that arm, that arm! +reaching out, making its way, with a little shining phial in its hand. +Pains of Christ! What could there be in the damnable books over which +Natacha and her companions pored that could make such abominable crimes +possible? Ah, Natacha, Natacha! it was from her that she would have +desired the answer, straining her almost to stifling on her rough bosom +and strangling her with her own strong hand that she might not hear the +response. Ah, Natacha, Natacha, whom she had loved so much! She sank to +the floor, crept across the carpet to the door, and lay there, stretched +like a beast, and buried her head in her arms while she wept over her +daughter. Natacha, Natacha, whom she had cherished as her own child, and +who did not hear her. Ah, what use that the little fellow had gone to +search outside when the whole truth lay behind this door? Thinking of +him, she was embarrassed lest he should find her in that animalistic +posture, and she rose to her knees and worked her way over to the window +that looked out upon the Neva. The angle of the slanting blinds let her +see well enough what passed outside, and what she saw made her +spring to her feet. Below her the reporter was going through the same +incomprehensible maneuvers that she had seen him do in the garden. Three +pathways led to the little road that ran along the wall of the villa +by the bank of the Neva. The young man, still with his hands behind his +back and with his face up, took them one after the other. In the first +he stopped at the first step. He didn’t take more than two steps in the +second. In the third, which cut obliquely toward the right and seemed to +run to the bank nearest Krestowsky Ostrow, she saw him advance slowly at +first, then more quickly among the small trees and hedges. Once only +he stopped and looked closely at the trunk of a tree against which he +seemed to pick out something invisible, and then he continued to the +bank. There he sat down on a stone and appeared to reflect, and then +suddenly he cast off his jacket and trousers, picked out a certain place +on the bank across from him, finished undressing and plunged into the +stream. She saw at once that he swam like a porpoise, keeping beneath +and showing his head from time to time, breathing, then diving below the +surface again. He reached Krestowsky Ostrow in a clump of reeds. Then he +disappeared. Below him, surrounded by trees, could be seen the red tiles +of the villa which sheltered Boris and Michael. From that villa a +person could see the window of the sitting-room in General Trebassof’s +residence, but not what might occur along the bank of the river +just below its walls. An isvotchick drove along the distant route of +Krestowsky, conveying in his carriage a company of young officers and +young women who had been feasting and who sang as they rode; then deep +silence ensued. Matrena’s eyes searched for Rouletabille, but could not +find him. How long was he going to stay hidden like that? She pressed +her face against the chill window. What was she waiting for? She waited +perhaps for someone to make a move on this side, for the door near her +to open and the traitorous figure of The Other to appear. + +A hand touched her carefully. She turned. + +Rouletabille was there, his face all scarred by red scratches, without +collar or neck-tie, having hastily resumed his clothes. He appeared +furious as he surprised her in his disarray. She let him lead her as +though she were a child. He drew her to his room and closed the door. + +“Madame,” he commenced, “it is impossible to work with you. Why in the +world have you wept not two feet from your step-daughter’s door? You and +your Koupriane, you commence to make me regret the Faubourg Poissoniere, +you know. Your step-daughter has certainly heard you. It is lucky that +she attaches no importance at all to your nocturnal phantasmagorias, and +that she has been used to them a long time. She has more sense than you, +Mademoiselle Natacha has. She sleeps, or at least she pretends to sleep, +which leaves everybody in peace. What reply will you give her if it +happens that she asks you the reason to-day for your marching and +counter-marching up and down the sitting-room and complains that you +kept her from sleeping?” + +Matrena only shook her old, old head. + +“No, no, she has not heard me. I was there like a shadow, like a shadow +of myself. She will never hear me. No one hears a shadow.” + +Rouletabille felt returning pity for her and spoke more gently. + +“In any case, it is necessary, you must understand, that she should +attach no more importance to what you have done to-night than to the +things she knows of your doing other nights. It is not the first time, +is it, that you have wandered in the sitting-room? You understand me? +And to-morrow, madame, embrace her as you always have.” + +“No, not that,” she moaned. “Never that. I could not.” + +“Why not?” + +Matrena did not reply. She wept. He took her in his arms like a child +consoling its mother. + +“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. All is not lost. Someone did leave the villa this +morning.” + +“Oh, little domovoi! How is that? How is that? How did you find that +out?” + +“Since we didn’t find anything inside, it was certainly necessary to +find something outside.” + +“And you have found it?” + +“Certainly.” + +“The Virgin protect you!” + +“SHE is with us. She will not desert us. I will even say that I believe +she has a special guardianship over the Isles. She watches over them +from evening to morning.” + +“What are you saying?” + +“Certainly. You don’t know what we call in France ‘the watchers of the +Virgin’?” + +“Oh, yes, they are the webs that the dear little beasts of the good God +spin between the trees and that...” + +“Exactly. You understand me and you will understand further when you +know that in the garden the first thing that struck me across the face +as I went into it was these watchers of the Virgin spun by the dear +little spiders of the good God. At first when I felt them on my face I +said to myself, ‘Hold on, no one has passed this way,’ and so I went to +search other places. The webs stopped me everywhere in the garden. But, +outside the garden, they kept out of the way and let me pass undisturbed +down a pathway which led to the Neva. So then I said to myself, ‘Now, +has the Virgin by accident overlooked her work in this pathway? Surely +not. Someone has ruined it.’ I found the shreds of them hanging to the +bushes, and so I reached the river.” + +“And you threw yourself into the river, my dear angel. You swim like a +little god.” + +“And I landed where the other landed. Yes, there were the reeds all +freshly broken. And I slipped in among the bushes.” + +“Where to?” + +“Up to the Villa Krestowsky, madame--where they both live.” + +“Ah, it was from there someone came?” + +There was a silence between them. + +She questioned: + +“Boris?” + +“Someone who came from the villa and who returned there. Boris or +Michael, or another. They went and returned through the reeds. But in +coming they used a boat; they returned by swimming.” + +Her customary agitation reasserted itself. + +She demanded ardently: + +“And you are sure that he came here and that he left here?” + +“Yes, I am sure of it.” + +“How?” + +“By the sitting-room window.” + +“It is impossible, for we found it locked.” + +“It is possible, if someone closed it behind him.” + +“Ah!” + +She commenced to tremble again, and, falling back into her nightmarish +horror, she no longer wasted fond expletives on her domovoi as on a dear +little angel who had just rendered a service ten times more precious to +her than life. While he listened patiently, she said brutally: + +“Why did you keep me from throwing myself on him, from rushing upon him +as he opened the door? Ah, I would have, I would have... we would know.” + +“No. At the least noise he would have closed the door. A turn of the key +and he would have escaped forever. And he would have been warned.” + +“Careless boy! Why then, if you knew he was going to come, didn’t you +leave me in the bedroom and you watch below yourself?” + +“Because so long as I was below he would not have come. He only comes +when there is no one downstairs.” + +“Ah, Saints Peter and Paul pity a poor woman. Who do you think it is, +then? Who do you think it is? I can’t think any more. Tell me, tell me +that. You ought to know--you know everything. Come--who? I demand the +truth. Who? Still some agent of the Committee, of the Central Committee? +Still the Nihilists?” + +“If it was only that!” said Rouletabille quietly. + +“You have sworn to drive me mad! What do you mean by your ‘if it was +only that’?” + +Rouletabille, imperturbable, did not reply. + +“What have you done with the potion?” said he. + +“The potion? The glass of the crime! I have locked it in my room, in the +cupboard--safe, safe!” + +“Ah, but, madame, it is necessary to replace it where you took it from.” + +“What!” + +“Yes, after having poured the poison into a phial, to wash the glass and +fill it with another potion.” + +“You are right. You think of everything. If the general wakes and wants +his potion, he must not be suspicious of anything, and he must be able +to have his drink.” + +“It is not necessary that he should drink.” + +“Well, then, why have the drink there?” + +“So that the person can be sure, madame, that if he has not drunk it is +simply because he has not wished to. A pure chance, madame, that he is +not poisoned. You understand me this time?” + +“Yes, yes. O Christ! But how now, if the general wakes and wishes to +drink his narcotic?” + +“Tell him I forbid it. And here is another thing you must do. +When--Someone--comes into the general’s chamber, in the morning, you +must quite openly and naturally throw out the potion, useless and vapid, +you see, and so Someone will have no right to be astonished that the +general continues to enjoy excellent health.” + +“Yes, yes, little one; you are wiser than King Solomon. And what will I +do with the phial of poison?” + +“Bring it to me.” + +“Right away.” + +She went for it and returned five minutes later. + +“He is still asleep. I have put the glass on the table, out of his +reach. He will have to call me.” + +“Very good. Then push the door to, close it; we have to talk things +over.” + +“But if someone goes back up the servants’ staircase?” + +“Be easy about that. They think the general is poisoned already. It is +the first care-free moment I have been able to enjoy in this house.” + +“When will you stop making me shake with horror, little demon! You keep +your secret well, I must say. The general is sleeping better than if he +really were poisoned. But what shall we do about Natacha? I dare ask you +that--you and you alone.” + +“Nothing at all.” + +“How--nothing?” + +“We will watch her...” + +“Ah, yes, yes.” + +“Still, Matrena, you let me watch her by myself.” + +“Yes, yes, I promise you. I will not pay any attention to her. That +is promised. That is promised. Do as you please. Why, just now, when I +spoke of the Nihilists to you, did you say, ‘If it were only that!’? You +believe, then, that she is not a Nihilist? She reads such things--things +like on the barricades...” + +“Madame, madame, you think of nothing but Natacha. You have promised me +not to watch her; promise me not to think about her.” + +“Why, why did you say, ‘If it was only that!’?” + +“Because, if there were only Nihilists in your affair, dear madame, it +would be too simple, or, rather, it would have been more simple. Can +you possibly believe, madame, that simply a Nihilist, a Nihilist who was +only a Nihilist, would take pains that his bomb exploded from a vase of +flowers?--that it would have mattered where, so long as it overwhelmed +the general? Do you imagine that the bomb would have had less effect +behind the door than in front of it? And the little cavity under the +floor, do you believe that a genuine revolutionary, such as you have +here in Russia, would amuse himself by penetrating to the villa only +to draw out two nails from a board, when one happens to give him +time between two visits to the dining-room? Do you suppose that a +revolutionary who wished to avenge the dead of Moscow and who could +succeed in getting so far as the door behind which General Trebassof +slept would amuse himself by making a little hole with a pin in order +to draw back the bolt and amuse himself by pouring poison into a glass? +Why, in such a case, he would have thrown his bomb outright, whether it +blew him up along with the villa, or he was arrested on the spot, or had +to submit to the martyrdom of the dungeons in the Fortress of SS. Peter +and Paul, or be hung at Schlusselburg. Isn’t that what always happens? +That is the way he would have done, and not have acted like a hotel-rat! +Now, there is someone in your home (or who comes to your home) who acts +like a hotel-rat because he does not wish to be seen, because he does +not wish to be discovered, because he does not wish to be taken in the +act. Now, the moment that he fears nothing so much as to be taken in +the act, so that he plays all these tricks of legerdemain, it is certain +that his object lies beyond the act itself, beyond the bomb, beyond +the poison. Why all this necessity for bombs of deferred explosion, for +clockwork placed where it will be confused with other things, and not on +a bare staircase forbidden to everybody, though you visit it twenty times +a day?” + +“But this man comes in as he pleases by day and by night? You don’t +answer. You know who he is, perhaps?” + +“I know him, perhaps, but I am not sure who it is yet.” + +“You are not curious, little domovoi doukh! A friend of the house, +certainly, and who enters the house as he wishes, by night, because +someone opens the window for him. And who comes from the Krestowsky +Villa! Boris or Michael! Ah, poor miserable Matrena! Why don’t they +kill poor Matrena? Their general! Their general! And they are +soldiers--soldiers who come at night to kill their general. Aided by--by +whom? Do you believe that? You? Light of my eyes! you believe that! No, +no, that is not possible! I want you to understand, monsieur le domovoi, +that I am not able to believe anything so horrible. No, no, by Jesus +Christ Who died on the Cross, and Who searches our hearts, I do not +believe that Boris--who, however, has very advanced ideas, I admit--it +is necessary not to forget that; very advanced; and who composes very +advanced verses also, as I have always told him--I will not believe that +Boris is capable of such a fearful crime. As to Michael, he is an honest +man, and my daughter, my Natacha, is an honest girl. Everything looks +very bad, truly, but I do not suspect either Michael or Boris or my pure +and beloved Natacha (even though she has made a translation into French +of very advanced verses, certainly most improper for the daughter of a +general). That is what lies at the bottom of my mind, the bottom of my +heart--you have understood me perfectly, little angel of paradise? Ah, +it is you the general owes his life to, that Matrena owes her life. +Without you this house would already be a coffin. How shall I ever +reward you? You wish for nothing! I annoy you! You don’t even listen to +me! A coffin--we would all be in our coffins! Tell me what you desire. +All that I have belongs to you!” + +“I desire to smoke a pipe. + +“Ah, a pipe! Do you want some yellow perfumed tobacco that I receive +every month from Constantinople, a treat right from the harem? I will +get enough for you, if you like it, to smoke ten thousand pipes full.” + +“I prefer caporal,” replied Rouletabille. “But you are right. It is not +wise to suspect anybody. See, watch, wait. There is always time, once +the game is caught, to say whether it is a hare or a wild boar. Listen +to me, then, my good mamma. We must know first what is in the phial. +Where is it?” + +“Here it is.” + +She drew it from her sleeve. He stowed it in his pocket. + +“You wish the general a good appetite, for me. I am going out. I will be +back in two hours at the latest. And, above all, don’t let the general +know anything. I am going to see one of my friends who lives in +the Aptiekarski pereolek.” * + + * The little street of the apothecaries. + +“Depend on me, and get back quickly for love of me. My blood clogs in my +heart when you are not here, dear servant of God.” + +She mounted to the general’s room and came down at least ten times to +see if Rouletabille had not returned. Two hours later he was around the +villa, as he had promised. She could not keep herself from running to +meet him, for which she was scolded. + +“Be calm. Be calm. Do you know what was in the phial?” + +“No.” + +“Arsenate of soda, enough to kill ten people.” + +“Holy Mary!” + +“Be quiet. Go upstairs to the general.” + +Feodor Feodorovitch was in charming humor. It was his first good night +since the death of the youth of Moscow. He attributed it to his not +having touched the narcotic and resolved, once more, to give up the +narcotic, a resolve Rouletabille and Matrena encouraged. During the +conversation there was a knock at the door of Matrena’s chamber. She ran +to see who was there, and returned with Natacha, who wished to embrace +her father. Her face showed traces of fatigue. Certainly she had not +passed as good a night as her father, and the general reproached her for +looking so downcast. + +“It is true. I had dreadful dreams. But you, papa, did you sleep well? +Did you take your narcotic?” + +“No, no, I have not touched a drop of my potion.” + +“Yes, I see. Oh, well, that is all right; that is very good. Natural +sleep must be coming back...” + +Matrena, as though hypnotized by Rouletabille, had taken the glass from +the table and ostentatiously carried it to the dressing-room to throw it +out, and she delayed there to recover her self-possession. + +Natacha continued: + +“You will see, papa, that you will be able to live just like everyone +else finally. The great thing was to clear away the police, the +atrocious police; wasn’t it, Monsieur Rouletabille?” + +“I have always said, for myself, that I am entirely of Mademoiselle +Natacha’s mind. You can be entirely reassured now, and I shall leave +you feeling reassured. Yes, I must think of getting my interviews done +quickly, and departing. Ah well, I can only say what I think. Run things +yourselves and you will not run any danger. Besides, the general gets +much better, and soon I shall see you all in France, I hope. I must +thank you now for your friendly hospitality.” + +“Ah, but you are not going? You are not going!” Matrena had already set +herself to protest with all the strenuous torrent of words in her +poor desolated heart, when a glance from the reporter cut short her +despairing utterances. + +“I shall have to remain a week still in the city. I have engaged a +chamber at the Hotel de France. It is necessary. I have so many people +to see and to receive. I will come to make you a little visit from time +to time.” + +“You are then quite easy,” demanded the general gravely, “at leaving me +all alone?” + +“Entirely easy. And, besides, I don’t leave you all alone. I leave you +with Madame Trebassof and Mademoiselle. I repeat: All three of you stay +as I see you now. No more police, or, in any case, the fewest possible.” + +“He is right, he is right,” repeated Natacha again. + +At this moment there were fresh knocks at the door of Matrena’s chamber. +It was Ermolai, who announced that his Excellency the Marshal of the +Court, Count Keltzof, wished to see the general, acting for His Majesty. + +“Go and receive the Count, Natacha, and tell him that your father will +be downstairs in a moment.” + +Natacha and Rouletabille went down and found the Count in the +drawing-room. He was a magnificent specimen, handsome and big as one +of the Swiss papal guard. He seemed watchful in all directions and all +among the furniture, and was quite evidently disquieted. He advanced +immediately to meet the young lady, inquiring the news. + +“It is all good news,” replied Natacha. “Everybody here is splendid. The +general is quite gay. But what news have you, monsieur le marechal? You +appear preoccupied.” + +The marshal had pressed Rouletabille’s hand. + +“And my grapes?” he demanded of Natacha. + +“How, your grapes? What grapes?” + +“If you have not touched them, so much the better. I arrived here very +anxious. I brought you yesterday, from Krasnoie-Coelo, some of the +Emperor’s grapes that Feodor Feodorovitch enjoyed so much. Now +this morning I learned that the eldest son of Doucet, the French +head-gardener of the Imperial conservatories at Krasnoie, had died from +eating those grapes, which he had taken from those gathered for me to +bring here. Imagine my dismay. I knew, however, that at the general’s +table, grapes would not be eaten without having been washed, but I +reproached myself for not having taken the precaution of leaving word +that Doucet recommend that they be washed thoroughly. Still, I don’t +suppose it would matter. I couldn’t see how my gift could be dangerous, +but when I learned of little Doucet’s death this morning, I jumped into +the first train and came straight here.” + +“But, your Excellency,” interrupted Natacha, “we have not seen your +grapes.” + +“Ah, they have not been served yet? All the better. Thank goodness!” + +“The Emperor’s grapes are diseased, then?” interrogated Rouletabille. +“Phylloxera pest has got into the conservatories?” + +“Nothing can stop it, Doucet told me. So he didn’t want me to leave last +evening until he had washed the grapes. Unfortunately, I was pressed +for time and I took them as they were, without any idea that the mixture +they spray on the grapes to protect them was so deadly. It appears that +in the vineyard country they have such accidents every year. They call +it, I think, the... the mixture...” + +“The Bordeaux mixture,” was heard in Rouletabille’s trembling voice “And +do you know what it is, Your Excellency, this Bordeaux mixture?” + +“Why, no.” + +At this moment the general came down the stairs, clinging to the +banister and supported by Matrena Petrovna. + +“Well,” continued Rouletabille, watching Natacha, “the Bordeaux mixture +which covered the grapes you brought the general yesterday was nothing +more nor less than arsenate of soda.” + +“Ah, God!” cried Natacha. + +As for Matrena Petrovna, she uttered a low exclamation and let go the +general, who almost fell down the staircase. Everybody rushed. The +general laughed. Matrena, under the stringent look of Rouletabille, +stammered that she had suddenly felt faint. At last they were all +together in the veranda. The general settled back on his sofa and +inquired: + +“Well, now, were you just saying something, my dear marshal, about some +grapes you have brought me?” + +“Yes, indeed,” said Natacha, quite frightened, “and what he said isn’t +pleasant at all. The son of Doucet, the court gardener, has just been +poisoned by the same grapes that monsieur le marschal, it appears, +brought you.” + +“Where was this? Grapes? What grapes? I haven’t seen any grapes!” + exclaimed Matrena. “I noticed you, yesterday, marshal, out in the +garden, but you went away almost immediately, and I certainly was +surprised that you did not come in. What is this story?” + +“Well, we must clear this matter up. It is absolutely necessary that we +know what happened to those grapes.” + +“Certainly,” said Rouletabille, “they could cause a catastrophe.” + +“If it has not happened already,” fretted the marshal. + +“But how? Where are they? Whom did you give them to?” + +“I carried them in a white cardboard box, the first one that came to +hand in Doucet’s place. I came here the first time and didn’t find you. +I returned again with the box, and the general was just lying down. +I was pressed for my train and Michael Nikolaievitch and Boris +Alexandrovitch were in the garden, so I asked them to execute my +commission, and I laid the box down near them on the little garden +table, telling them not to forget to tell you it was necessary to wash +the grapes as Doucet expressly recommended.” + +“But it is unbelievable! It is terrible!” quavered Matrena. “Where can +the grapes be? We must know.” + +“Absolutely,” approved Rouletabille. + +“We must ask Boris and Michael,” said Natacha. “Good God! surely they +have not eaten them! Perhaps they are sick.” + +“Here they are,” said the general. All turned. Michael and Boris were +coming up the steps. Rouletabille, who was in a shadowed corner under +the main staircase, did not lose a single play of muscle on the two +faces which for him were two problems to solve. Both faces were smiling; +too smiling, perhaps. + +“Michael! Boris! Come here,” cried Feodor Feodorovitch. “What have you +done with the grapes from monsieur le marechal?” + +They both looked at him upon this brusque interrogation, seemed not to +understand, and then, suddenly recalling, they declared very naturally +that they had left them on the garden table and had not thought about +them. + +“You forgot my caution, then?” said Count Kaltzof severely. + +“What caution?” said Boris. “Oh, yes, the washing of the grapes. +Doucet’s caution.” + +“Do you know what has happened to Doucet with those grapes? His eldest +son is dead, poisoned. Do you understand now why we are anxious to know +what has become of my grapes?” + +“But they ought to be out there on the table,” said Michael. + +“No one can find them anywhere,” declared Matrena, who, no less than +Rouletabille, watched every change in the countenances of the two +officers. “How did it happen that you went away yesterday evening +without saying good-bye, without seeing us, without troubling yourselves +whether or not the general might need you?” + +“Madame,” said Michael, coldly, in military fashion, as though he +replied to his superior officer himself, “we have ample excuse to offer +you and the general. It is necessary that we make an admission, and the +general will pardon us, I am sure. Boris and I, during the promenade, +happened to quarrel. That quarrel was in full swing when we reached here +and we were discussing the way to end it most promptly when monsieur +le marechal entered the garden. We must make that our excuse for giving +divided attention to what he had to say. As soon as he was gone we had +only one thought, to get away from here to settle our difference with +arms in our hands.” + +“Without speaking to me about it!” interrupted Trehassof. “I never will +pardon that.” + +“You fight at such a time, when the general is threatened! It is as +though you fought between yourselves in the face of the enemy. It is +treason!” added Matrena. + +“Madame,” said Boris, “we did not fight. Someone pointed out our fault, +and I offered my excuses to Michael Nikolaievitch, who generously +accepted them. Is that not so, Michael Nikolaievitch?” + +“And who is this that pointed out your fault?” demanded the marshal. + +“Natacha.” + +“Bravo, Natacha. Come, embrace me, my daughter.” + +The general pressed his daughter effusively to his broad chest. + +“And I hope you will not have further disputing,” he cried, looking over +Natacha’s shoulder. + +“We promise you that, General,” declared Boris. “Our lives belong to +you.” + +“You did well, my love. Let us all do as well. I have passed an +excellent night, messieurs. Real sleep! I have had just one long sleep.” + +“That is so,” said Matrena slowly. “The general had no need of narcotic. +He slept like a child and did not touch his potion.” + +“And my leg is almost well.” + +“All the same, it is singular that those grapes should have +disappeared,” insisted the marshal, following his fixed idea. + +“Ermolai,” called Matrena. + +The old servant appeared. + +“Yesterday evening, after these gentlemen had left the house, did you +notice a small white box on the garden table?” + +“No, Barinia.” + +“And the servants? Have any of them been sick? The dvornicks? The +schwitzar? In the kitchens? No one sick? No? Go and see; then come and +tell me.” + +He returned, saying, “No one sick.” + +Like the marshal, Matrena Petrovna and Feodor Feodorovitch looked at one +another, repeating in French, “No one sick! That is strange!” + +Rouletabille came forward and gave the only explanation that was +plausible--for the others. + +“But, General, that is not strange at all. The grapes have been stolen +and eaten by some domestic, and if the servant has not been sick it is +simply that the grapes monsieur le marechal brought escaped the spraying +of the Bordeaux mixture. That is the whole mystery.” + +“The little fellow must be right,” cried the delighted marshal. + +“He is always right, this little fellow,” beamed Matrena, as proudly as +though she had brought him into the world. + +But “the little fellow,” taking advantage of the greetings as Athanase +Georgevitch and Ivan Petrovitch arrived, left the villa, gripping in his +pocket the phial which held what is required to make grapes flourish +or to kill a general who is in excellent health. When he had gone a few +hundred steps toward the bridges one must cross to go into the city, he +was overtaken by a panting dvornick, who brought him a letter that had +just come by courier. The writing on the envelope was entirely unknown +to him. He tore it open and read, in excellent French: + +“Request to M. Joseph Rouletabille not to mix in matters that do not +concern him. The second warning will be the last.” It was signed: “The +Central Revolutionary Committee.” + +“So, ho!” said Rouletabille, slipping the paper into his pocket, “that’s +the line it takes, is it! Happily I have nothing more to occupy myself +with at all. It is Koupriane’s turn now! Now to go to Koupriane’s!” + +On this date, Rouletabille’s note-book: “Natacha to her father: ‘But +you, papa, have you had a good night? Did you take your narcotic?’ + +“Fearful, and (lest I confuse heaven and hell) I have no right to +take any further notes.” * + + * As a matter of fact, after this day no more notes are + found in Rouletabille’s memorandum-book. The last one is + that above, bizarre and romantic, and necessary, as + Sainclair, the Paris advocate and friend of Rouletabille, + indicates opposite it in the papers from which we have taken + all the details of this story. + + + + + +VIII. THE LITTLE CHAPEL OF THE GUARDS + +Rouletabille took a long walk which led him to the Troitsky Bridge, +then, re-descending the Naberjnaia, he reached the Winter Palace. +He seemed to have chased away all preoccupation, and took a child’s +pleasure in the different aspects of the life that characterizes the +city of the Great Peter. He stopped before the Winter Palace, walked +slowly across the square where the prodigious monolith of the Alexander +Column rises from its bronze socket, strolled between the palace and the +colonnades, passed under an immense arch: everything seemed Cyclopean to +him, and he never had felt so tiny, so insignificant. None the less he +was happy in his insignificance, he was satisfied with himself in the +presence of these colossal things; everything pleased him this morning. +The speed of the isvos, the bickering humor of the osvotchicks, the +elegance of the women, the fine presences of the officers and their easy +naturalness under their uniforms, so opposed to the wooden posturing of +the Berlin military men whom he had noticed at the “Tilleuls” and in +the Friederichstrasse between two trains. Everything enchanted him--the +costume even of the moujiks, vivid blouses, the red shirts over +the trousers, the full legs and the boots up to the knees, even the +unfortunates who, in spite of the soft atmosphere, were muffled up in +sheepskin coats, all impressed him favorably, everything appeared to him +original and congenial. + +Order reigned in the city. The guards were polite, decorative and +superb in bearing. The passers-by in that quarter talked gayly among +themselves, often in French, and had manners as civilized as anywhere +in the world. Where, then, was the Bear of the North? He never had seen +bears so well licked. Was it this very city that only yesterday was in +revolution? This was certainly the Alexander Park where troops a few +weeks before had fired on children who had sought refuge in the trees, +like sparrows. Was this the very pavement where the Cossacks had left +so many bodies? Finally he saw before him the Nevsky Prospect, where +the bullets rained like hail not long since upon a people dressed for +festivities and very joyous. Nichevo! Nichevo! All that was so +soon forgotten. They forgot yesterday as they forget to-morrow. The +Nihilists? Poets, who imagined that a bomb could accomplish anything +in that Babylon of the North more important than the noise of its +explosion! Look at these people who pass. They have no more thought +for the old attack than for those now preparing in the shadow of the +“tracktirs.” Happy men, full of serenity in this bright quarter, who +move about their affairs and their pleasures in the purest air, the +lightest, the most transparent on earth. No, no; no one knows the joy of +mere breathing if he has not breathed the air there, the finest in +the north of the world, which gives food and drink of beautiful white +eau-de-vie and yellow pivo, and strikes the blood and makes one a beast +vigorous and joyful and fatalistic, and mocks at the Nihilists and, +as well, at the ten thousand eyes of the police staring from under the +porches of houses, from under the skulls of dvornicks--all police, the +dvornicks; all police, also the joyous concierges with extended hands. +Ah, ah, one mocks at it all in such air, provided one has roubles +in one’s pockets, plenty of roubles, and that one is not besotted by +reading those extraordinary books that preach the happiness of all +humanity to students and to poor girl-students too. Ah, ah, seed of the +Nihilists, all that! These poor little fellows and poor little girls who +have their heads turned by lectures that they cannot digest! That is +all the trouble, the digestion. The digestion is needed. Messieurs the +commercial travelers for champagne, who talk together importantly in +the lobbies of the Grand Morskaia Hotel and who have studied the Russian +people even in the most distant cities where champagne is sold, will +tell you that over any table of hors-d’oeuvres, and will regulate the +whole question of the Revolution between two little glasses of vodka, +swallowed properly, quickly, elbow up, at a single draught, in the +Russian manner. Simply an affair of digestion, they tell you. Who is the +fool that would dare compare a young gentleman who has well digested +a bottle of champagne or two, and another young man who has poorly +digested the lucubrations of, who shall we say?--the lucubrations of the +economists? The economists? The economists! Fools who compete which +can make the most violent statements! Those who read them and don’t +understand them go off like a bomb! Your health! Nichevo! The world goes +round still, doesn’t it? + +Discussion political, economic, revolutionary, and other in the room +where they munch hors-d’oeuvres! You will hear it all as you pass +through the hotel to your chamber, young Rouletabille. Get quickly +now to the home of Koupriane, if you don’t wish to arrive there at +luncheon-time; then you would have to put off these serious affairs +until evening. + +The Department of Police. Massive entrance, heavily guarded, a great +lobby, halls with swinging doors, many obsequious schwitzars on the +lookout for tips, many poor creatures sitting against the walls on dirty +benches, desks and clerks, brilliant boots and epaulets of gay young +officers who are telling tales of the Aquarium with great relish. + +“Monsieur Rouletabille! Ah, yes. Please be seated. Delighted, M. +Koupriane will be very happy to receive you, but just at this moment he +is at inspection. Yes, the inspection of the police dormitories in +the barracks. We will take you there. His own idea! He doesn’t neglect +anything, does he? A great Chief. Have you seen the police-guards’ +dormitory? Admirable! The first dormitories of the world. We say that +without wishing to offend France. We love France. A great nation! I will +take you immediately to M. Koupriane. I shall be delighted.” + +“I also,” said Rouletabille, who put a rouble into the honorable +functionary’s hand. + +“Permit me to precede you.” + +Bows and salutes. For two roubles he would have walked obsequiously +before him to the end of the world. + +“These functionaries are admirable,” thought Rouletabille as he was led +to the barracks. He felt he had not paid too much for the services of a +personage whose uniform was completely covered with lace. They tramped, +they climbed, they descended. Stairways, corridors. Ah, the barracks at +last. He seemed to have entered a convent. Beds very white, very narrow, +and images of the Virgin and saints everywhere, monastic neatness and +the most absolute silence. Suddenly an order sounded in the corridor +outside, and the police-guard, who sprang from no one could tell where, +stood to attention at the head of their beds. Koupriane and his aide +appeared. Koupriane looked at everything closely, spoke to each man in +turn, called them by their names, inquired about their needs, and +the men stammered replies, not knowing what to answer, reddening like +children. Koupriane observed Rouletabille. He dismissed his aide with +a gesture. The inspection was over. He drew the young man into a little +room just off the dormitory. Rouletabille, frightened, looked about him. +He found himself in a chapel. This little chapel completed the effect of +the guards’ dormitory. It was all gilded, decorated in marvelous colors, +thronged with little ikons that bring happiness, and, naturally, with +the portrait of the Tsar, the dear Little Father. + +“You see,” said Koupriane, smiling at Rouletabille’s amazement, “we deny +them nothing. We give them their saints right here in their quarters.” + Closing the door, he drew a chair toward Rouletabille and motioned him +to sit down. They sat before the little altar loaded with flowers, with +colored paper and winged saints. + +“We can talk here without being disturbed,” he said. “Yonder there is +such a crowd of people waiting for me. I’m ready to listen.” + +“Monsieur,” said Rouletabille, “I have come to give you the report of my +mission here, and to terminate my connection with it. All that is left +for clearing this obscure affair is to arrest the guilty person, with +which I have nothing to do. That concerns you. I simply inform you that +someone tried to poison the general last night by pouring arsenate of +soda into his sleeping-potion, which I bring you in this phial, arsenate +which was secured most probably by washing it from grapes brought to +General Trebassof by the marshal of the court, and which disappeared +without anyone being able to say how.” + +“Ah, ah, a family affair, a plot within the family. I told you so,” + murmured Koupriane. + +“The affair at least has happened within the family, as you think, +although the assassin came from outside. Contrary to what you may be +able to believe, he does not live in the house.” + +“Then how does he get there?” demanded Koupriane. + +“By the window of the room overlooking the Neva. He has often come that +way. And that is the way he returns also, I am sure. It is there you can +take him if you act with prudence.” + +“How do you know he often comes that way?” + +“You know the height of the window above the little roadway. To reach it +he uses a water-trough, whose iron rings are bent, and also the marks of +a grappling-iron that he carries with him and uses to hoist himself to +the window are distinctly visible on the ironwork of the little balcony +outside. The marks are quite obviously of different dates.” + +“But that window is closed.” + +“Someone opens it for him.” + +“Who, if you please?” + +“I have no desire to know.” + +“Eh, yes. It necessarily is Natacha. I was sure that the Villa des Iles +had its viper. I tell you she doesn’t dare leave her nest because she +knows she is watched. Not one of her movements outside escapes us! She +knows it. She has been warned. The last time she ventured outside alone +was to go into the old quarters of Derewnia. What has she to do in such +a rotten quarter? I ask you that. And she turned in her tracks without +seeing anyone, without knocking at a single door, because she saw that +she was followed. She isn’t able to get to see them outside, therefore +she has to see them inside.” + +“They are only one, and always the same one.” + +“Are you sure?” + +“An examination of the marks on the wall and on the pipe doesn’t leave +any doubt of it, and it is always the same grappling-iron that is used +for the window.” + +“The viper!” + +“Monsieur Koupriane, Mademoiselle Natacha seems to preoccupy you +exceedingly. I did not come here to talk about Mademoiselle Natacha. I +came to point out to you the route used by the man who comes to do the +murder.” + +“Eh, yes, it is she who opens the way.” + +“I can’t deny that.” + +“The little demon! Why does she take him into her room at night? Do you +think perhaps there is some love-affair...?” + +“I am sure of quite the opposite.” + +“I too. Natacha is not a wanton. Natacha has no heart. She has only a +brain. And it doesn’t take long for a brain touched by Nihilism to get +so it won’t hesitate at anything.” + +Koupriane reflected a minute, while Rouletabille watched him in silence. + +“Have we solely to do with Nihilism?” resumed Koupriane. “Everything you +tell me inclines me more and more to my idea: a family affair, purely in +the family. You know, don’t you, that upon the general’s death Natacha +will be immensely rich?” + +“Yes, I know it,” replied Rouletabille, in a voice that sounded singular +to the ear of the Chief of Police and which made him raise his head. + +“What do you know?” + +“I? Nothing,” replied the reporter, this time in a firmer tone. “I +ought, however, to say this to you: I am sure that we are dealing with +Nihilism...” + +“What makes you believe it?” + +“This.” + +And Rouletabille handed Koupriane the message he had received that same +morning. + +“Oh, oh,” cried Koupriane. “You are under watch! Look out.” + +“I have nothing to fear; I’m not bothering myself about anything +further. Yes, we have an affair of the revolutionaries, but not of the +usual kind. The way they are going about it isn’t like one of their +young men that the Central Committee arms with a bomb and who is +sacrificed in advance.” + +“Where are the tracks that you have traced?” + +“Right up to the little Krestowsky Villa.” + +Koupriane bounded from his chair. + +“Occupied by Boris. Parbleu! Now we have them. I see it all now. Boris, +another cracked brain! And he is engaged. If he plays the part of the +Revolutionaries, the affair would work out big for him.” + +“That villa,” said Rouletabille quietly, “is also occupied by Michael +Korosakoff.” + +“He is the most loyal, the most reliable soldier of the Tsar.” + +“No one is ever sure of anything, my dear Monsieur Koupriane.” + +“Oh, I am sure of a man like that.” + +“No man is ever sure of any man, my dear Monsieur Koupriane.” + +“I am, in every case, for those I employ.” + +“You are wrong.” + +“What do you say?” + +“Something that can serve you in the enterprise you are going to +undertake, because I trust you can catch the murderer right in his nest. +To do that, I’ll not conceal from you that I think your agents will have +to be enormously clever. They will have to watch the datcha des Iles at +night, without anyone possibly suspecting it. No more maroon coats with +false astrakhan trimmings, eh? But Apaches, Apaches on the wartrail, who +blend themselves with the ground, with the trees, with the stones in the +roadway. But among those Apaches don’t send that agent of your Secret +Service who watched the window while the assassin climbed to it.” + +“What?” + +“Why, these climbs that you can read the proofs of on the wall and on +the iron forgings of the balcony went on while your agents, night and +day, were watching the villa. Have you noticed, monsieur, that it was +always the same agent who took the post at night, behind the villa, +under the window? General Trebassof’s book in which he kept a statement +of the exact disposal of each of your men during the period of siege was +most instructive on that point. The other posts changed in turn, but the +same agent, when he was among the guard, demanded always that same post, +which was not disputed by anybody, since it is no fun to pass the hours +of the night behind a wall, in an empty field. The others much preferred +to roll away the time watching in the villa or in front of the lodge, +where vodka and Crimean wine, kwass and pivo, kirsch and tchi, never ran +short. That agent’s name is Touman.” + +“Touman! Impossible! He is one of the best agents from Kiew. He was +recommended by Gounsovski.” + +Rouletabille chuckled. + +“Yes, yes, yes,” grumbled the Chief of Police. “Someone always laughs +when his name is mentioned.” + +Koupriane had turned red. He rose, opened the door, gave a long +direction in Russian, and returned to his chair. + +“Now,” said he, “go ahead and tell me all the details of the poison and +the grapes the marshal of the court brought. I’m listening.” + +Rouletabille told him very briefly and without drawing any deductions +all that we already know. He ended his account as a man dressed in a +maroon coat with false astrakhan was introduced. It was the same man +Rouletabille had met in General Trebassof’s drawing-room and who +spoke French. Two gendarmes were behind him. The door had been closed. +Koupriane turned toward the man in the coat. + +“Touman,” he said, “I want to talk to you. You are a traitor, and I have +proof. You can confess to me, and I will give you a thousand roubles and +you can take yourself off to be hanged somewhere else.” + +The man’s eyes shrank, but he recovered himself quickly. He replied in +Russian. + +“Speak French. I order it,” commanded Koupriane. + +“I answer, Your Excellency,” said Touman firmly, “that I don’t know what +Your Excellency means.” + +“I mean that you have helped a man get into the Trebassof villa by night +when you were on guard under the window of the little sitting-room. +You see that there is no use deceiving us any longer. I play with you +frankly, good play, good money. The name of that man, and you have a +thousand roubles.” + +“I am ready to swear on the ikon of...” + +“Don’t perjure yourself.” + +“I have always loyally served...” + +“The name of that man.” + +“I still don’t know yet what Your Excellency means.” + +“Oh, you understand me,” replied Koupriane, who visibly held in an anger +that threatened to break forth any moment. “A man got into the house +while you were watching...” + +“I never saw anything. After all, it is possible. There were some very +dark nights. I went back and forth.” + +“You are not a fool. The name of that man.” + +“I assure you, Excellency...” + +“Strip him.” + +“What are you going to do?” cried Rouletabille. + +But already the two guards had thrown themselves on Touman and had drawn +off his coat and shirt. The man was bare to the waist. + +“What are you going to do? What are you going to do?” + +“Leave them alone,” said Koupriane, roughly pushing Rouletabille back. + +Seizing a whip which hung at the waist of the guards he struck Touman a +blow across the shoulders that drew blood. Touman, mad with the outrage +and the pain, shouted, “Yes, it is true! I brag of it!” + +Koupriane did not restrain his rage. He showered the unhappy man with +blows, having thrown Rouletabille to the end of the room when he tried +to interfere. And while he proceeded with the punishment the Chief of +Police hurled at the agent who had betrayed him an accompaniment of +fearful threats, promising him that before he was hanged he should rot +in the bottom-most dungeon of Peter and Paul, in the slimy pits lying +under the Neva. Touman, between the two guards who held him, and who +sometimes received blows on the rebound that were not intended for them, +never uttered a complaint. Outside the invectives of Koupriane there +was heard only the swish of the cords and the cries of Rouletabille, +who continued to protest that it was abominable, and called the Chief +of Police a savage. Finally the savage stopped. Gouts of blood had +spattered all about. + +“Monsieur,” said Rouletabille, who supported himself against the wall. +“I shall complain to the Tsar.” + +“You are right,” Koupriane replied, “but I feel relieved now. You can’t +imagine the harm this man can have done to us in the weeks he has been +here.” + +Touman, across whose shoulders they had thrown his coat and who lay now +across a chair, found strength to look up and say: + +“It is true. You can’t do me as much harm as I have done you, whether +you think so or not. All the harm that can be done me by you and yours +is already accomplished. My name is not Touman, but Matiev. Listen. I +had a son that was the light of my eyes. Neither my son nor I had ever +been concerned with politics. I was employed in Moscow. My son was a +student. During the Red Week we went out, my son and I, to see a little +of what was happening over in the Presnia quarter. They said everybody +had been killed over there! We passed before the Presnia gate. Soldiers +called to us to stop because they wished to search us. We opened our +coats. The soldiers saw my son’s student waistcoat and set up a cry. +They unbuttoned the vest, drew a note-book out of his pocket and they +found a workman’s song in it that had been published in the Signal. +The soldiers didn’t know how to read. They believed the paper was a +proclamation, and they arrested my son. I demanded to be arrested with +him. They pushed me away. I ran to the governor’s house. Trebassof +had me thrust away from his door with blows from the butt-ends of his +Cossacks’ guns. And, as I persisted, they kept me locked up all that +night and the morning of the next day. At noon I was set free. I +demanded my son and they replied they didn’t know what I was talking +about. But a soldier that I recognized as having arrested my son the +evening before pointed out a van that was passing, covered with a +tarpaulin and surrounded by Cossacks. ‘Your son is there,’ he said; +‘they are taking him to the graves.’ Mad with despair, I ran after the +van. It went to the outskirts of Golountrine cemetery. There I saw +in the white snow a huge grave, wide, deep. I shall see it to my last +minute. Two vans had already stopped near the hole. Each van held +thirteen corpses. The vans were dumped into the trench and the soldiers +commenced to sort the bodies into rows of six. I watched for my son. +At last I recognized him in a body that half hung over the edge of the +trench. Horrors of suffering were stamped in the expression of his face. +I threw myself beside him. I said that I was his father. They let me +embrace him a last time and count his wounds. He had fourteen. Someone +had stolen the gold chain that had hung about his neck and held the +picture of his mother, who died the year before. I whispered into his +ear, I swore to avenge him. Forty-eight hours later I had placed myself +at the disposition of the Revolutionary Committee. A week had not passed +before Touman, whom, it seems, I resemble and who was one of the Secret +Service agents in Kiew, was assassinated in the train that was taking +him to St. Petersburg. The assassination was kept a secret. I received +all his papers and I took his place with you. I was doomed beforehand +and I asked nothing better, so long as I might last until after the +execution of Trebassof. Ah, how I longed to kill him with my own hands! +But another had already been assigned the duty and my role was to help +him. And do you suppose I am going to tell you the name of that other? +Never! And if you discover that other, as you have discovered me, +another will come, and another, and another, until Trebassof has paid +for his crimes. That is all I have to say to you, Koupriane. As for you, +my little fellow,” added he, turning to Rouletabille, “I wouldn’t +give much for your bones. Neither of you will last long. That is my +consolation.” + +Koupriane had not interrupted the man. He looked at him in silence, +sadly. + +“You know, my poor man, you will be hanged now?” he said. + +“No,” growled Rouletabille. “Monsieur Koupriane, I’ll bet you my purse +that he will not be hanged.” + +“And why not?” demanded the Chief of rolice, while, upon a sign from +him, they took away the false Touman. + +“Because it is I who denounced him.” + +“What a reason! And what would you like me to do?” + +“Guard him for me; for me alone, do you understand?” + +“In exchange for what?” + +“In exchange for the life of General Trebassof, if I must put it that +way.” + +“Eh? The life of General Trebassof! You speak as if it belonged to you, +as if you could dispose of it.” + +Rouletabille laid his hand on Koupriane’s arm. + +“Perhaps that’s so,” said he. + +“Would you like me to tell you one thing, Monsieur Rouletabille? It is +that General Trebassof’s life, after what has just escaped the lips of +this Touman, who is not Touman, isn’t worth any more than--than yours if +you remain here. Since you are disposed not to do anything more in this +affair, take the train, monsieur, take the train, and go.” + +Rouletabille walked back and forth, very much worked up; then suddenly +he stopped short. + +“Impossible,” he said. “It is impossible. I cannot; I am not able to go +yet.” + +“Why?” + +“Good God, Monsieur Koupriane, because I have to interview the President +of the Duma yet, and complete my little inquiry into the politics of the +cadets.” + +“Oh, indeed!” + +Koupriane looked at him with a sour grin. + +“What are you going to do with that man?” demanded Rouletabille. + +“Have him fixed up first.” + +“And then?” + +“Then take him before the judges.” + +“That is to say, to the gallows?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Monsieur Koupriane, I offer it to you again. Life for life. Give me the +life of that poor devil and I promise you General Trebassof’s.” + +“Explain yourself.” + +“Not at all. Do you promise me that you will maintain silence about the +case of that man and that you will not touch a hair of his head?” + +Koupriane looked at Rouletabille as he had looked at him during the +altercation they had on the edge of the Gulf. He decided the same way +this time. + +“Very well,” said he. “You have my word. The poor devil!” + +“You are a brave man, Monsieur Koupriane, but a little quick with the +whip...” + +“What would you expect? One’s work teaches that.” + +“Good morning. No, don’t trouble to show me out. I am compromised enough +already,” said Rouletabille, laughing. + +“Au revoir, and good luck! Get to work interviewing the President of the +Duma,” added Koupriane knowingly, with a great laugh. + +But Rouletabille was already gone. + +“That lad,” said the Chief of Police aloud to himself, “hasn’t told me a +bit of what he knows.” + + + + + +IX. ANNOUCHKA + +“And now it’s between us two, Natacha,” murmured Rouletabille as soon +as he was outside. He hailed the first carriage that passed and gave the +address of the datcha des Iles. When he got in he held his head between +his hands; his face burned, his jaws were set. But by a prodigious +effort of his will he resumed almost instantly his calm, his +self-control. As he went back across the Neva, across the bridge where +he had felt so elated a little while before, and saw the isles again he +sighed heavily. “I thought I had got it all over with, so far as I was +concerned, and now I don’t know where it will stop.” His eyes grew dark +for a moment with somber thoughts and the vision of the Lady in Black +rose before him; then he shook his head, filled his pipe, lighted it, +dried a tear that had been caused doubtless by a little smoke in his +eye, and stopped sentimentalizing. A quarter of an hour later he gave +a true Russian nobleman’s fist-blow in the back to the coachman as an +intimation that they had reached the Trebassof villa. A charming picture +was before him. They were all lunching gayly in the garden, around the +table in the summer-house. He was astonished, however, at not seeing +Natacha with them. Boris Mourazoff and Michael Korsakoff were there. +Rouletabille did not wish to be seen. He made a sign to Ermolai, who was +passing through the garden and who hurried to meet him at the gate. + +“The Barinia,” said the reporter, in a low voice and with his finger to +his lips to warn the faithful attendant to caution. + +In two minutes Matrena Petrovna joined Rouletabille in the lodge. + +“Well, where is Natacha?” he demanded hurriedly as she kissed his hands +quite as though she had made an idol of him. + +“She has gone away. Yes, out. Oh, I did not keep her. I did not try +to hold her back. Her expression frightened me, you can understand, my +little angel. My, you are impatient! What is it about? How do we stand? +What have you decided? I am your slave. Command me. Command me. The keys +of the villa?” + +“Yes, give me a key to the veranda; you must have several. I must be +able to get into the house to-night if it becomes necessary.” + +She drew a key from her gown, gave it to the young man and said a few +words in Russian to Ermolai, to enforce upon him that he must obey the +little domovoi-doukh in anything, day or night. + +“Now tell me where Natacha has gone.” + +“Boris’s parents came to see us a little while ago, to inquire after +the general. They have taken Natacha away with them, as they often have +done. Natacha went with them readily enough. Little domovoi, listen to +me, listen to Matrena Petrovna--Anyone would have said she was expecting +it!” + +“Then she has gone to lunch at their house?” + +“Doubtless, unless they have gone to a cafe. I don’t know. Boris’s +father likes to have the family lunch at the Barque when it is fine. +Calm yourself, little domovoi. What ails you? Bad news, eh? Any bad +news?” + +“No, no; everything is all right. Quick, the address of Boris’s family.” + +“The house at the corner of La Place St. Isaac and la rue de la Poste.” + +“Good. Thank you. Adieu.” + +He started for the Place St. Isaac, and picked up an interpreter at the +Grand Morskaia Hotel on the way. It might be useful to have him. At the +Place St. Isaac he learned the Morazoffs and Natacha Trebassof had +gone by train for luncheon at Bergalowe, one of the nearby stations in +Finland. + +“That is all,” said he, and added apart to himself, “And perhaps that is +not true.” + +He paid the coachman and the interpreter, and lunched at the Brasserie +de Vienne nearby. He left there a half-hour later, much calmer. He +took his way to the Grand Morskaia Hotel, went inside and asked the +schwitzar: + +“Can you give me the address of Mademoiselle Annouchka?” + +“The singer of the Krestowsky?” + +“That is who I mean.” + +“She had luncheon here. She has just gone away with the prince.” + +Without any curiosity as to which prince, Rouletabille cursed his luck +and again asked for her address. + +“Why, she lives in an apartment just across the way.” + +Rouletabille, feeling better, crossed the street, followed by the +interpreter that he had engaged. Across the way he learned on the +landing of the first floor that Mademoiselle Annouchka was away for the +day. He descended, still followed by his interpreter, and recalling +how someone had told him that in Russia it was always profitable to be +generous, he gave five roubles to the interpreter and asked him for some +information about Mademoiselle Annouchka’s life in St. Petersburg. The +interpreter whispered: + +“She arrived a week ago, but has not spent a single night in her +apartment over there.” + +He pointed to the house they had just left, and added: + +“Merely her address for the police.” + +“Yes, yes,” said Rouletabille, “I understand. She sings this evening, +doesn’t she?” + +“Monsieur, it will be a wonderful debut.” + +“Yes, yes, I know. Thanks.” + +All these frustrations in the things he had undertaken that day instead +of disheartening him plunged him deep into hard thinking. He returned, +his hands in his pockets, whistling softly, to the Place St. Isaac, +walked around the church, keeping an eye on the house at the corner, +investigated the monument, went inside, examined all its details, came +out marveling, and finally went once again to the residence of the +Mourazoffs, was told that they had not yet returned from the Finland +town, then went and shut himself in his room at the hotel, where he +smoked a dozen pipes of tobacco. He emerged from his cloud of smoke at +dinner-time. + +At ten that evening he stepped out of his carriage before the +Krestowsky. The establishment of Krestowsky, which looms among the Isles +much as the Aquarium does, is neither a theater, nor a music-hall, nor a +cafe-concert, nor a restaurant, nor a public garden; it is all of these +and some other things besides. Summer theater, winter theater, open-air +theater, hall for spectacles, scenic mountain, exercise-ground, +diversions of all sorts, garden promenades, cafes, restaurants, private +dining-rooms, everything is combined here that can amuse, charm, lead +to the wildest orgies, or provide those who never think of sleep till +toward three or four o’clock of a morning the means to await the dawn +with patience. The most celebrated companies of the old and the new +world play there amid an enthusiasm that is steadily maintained by the +foresight of the managers: Russian and foreign dancers, and above all +the French chanteuses, the little dolls of the cafes-concerts, so long +as they are young, bright, and elegantly dressed, may meet their fortune +there. If there is no such luck, they are sure at least to find every +evening some old beau, and often some officer, who willingly pays +twenty-five roubles for the sole pleasure of having a demoiselle born +on the banks of the Seine for his companion at the supper-table. After +their turn at the singing, these women display their graces and their +eager smiles in the promenades of the garden or among the tables where +the champagne-drinkers sit. The head-liners, naturally, are not driven +to this wearying perambulation, but can go away to their rest if they +are so inclined. However, the management is appreciative if they accept +the invitation of some dignitary of the army, of administration, or of +finance, who seeks the honor of hearing from the chanteuse, in a private +room and with a company of friends not disposed to melancholy, the +Bohemian songs of the Vieux Derevnia. They sing, they loll, they talk +of Paris, and above all they drink. If sometimes the little fete ends +rather roughly, it is the friendly and affectionate champagne that is to +blame, but usually the orgies remain quite innocent, of a character that +certainly might trouble the temperance societies but need not make M. le +Senateur Berenger feel involved. + +A war whose powder fumes reeked still, a revolution whose last defeated +growls had not died away at the period of these events, had not at all +diminished the nightly gayeties of Kretowsky. Many of the young men who +displayed their uniforms that evening and called their “Nichevo” along +the brilliantly lighted paths of the public gardens, or filled the +open-air tables, or drank vodka at the buffets, or admired the figures +of the wandering soubrettes, had come here on the eve of their departure +for the war and had returned with the same child-like, enchanted smile, +the same ideal of futile joy, and kissed their passing comrades as gayly +as ever. Some of them had a sleeve lying limp now, or walked with a +crutch, or even on a wooden leg, but it was, all the same, “Nichevo!” + +The crowd this evening was denser than ordinarily, because there was the +chance to hear Annouchka again for the first time since the somber days +of Moscow. The students were ready to give her an ovation, and no one +opposed it, because, after all, if she sang now it was because the +police were willing at last. If the Tsar’s government had granted her +her life, it was not in order to compel her to die of hunger. Each +earned a livelihood as was possible. Annouchka only knew how to sing and +dance, and so she must sing and dance! + +When Rouletabille entered the Krestowsky Gardens, Annouchka had +commenced her number, which ended with a tremendous “Roussalka.” + Surrounded by a chorus of male and female dancers in the national +dress and with red boots, striking tambourines with their fingers, then +suddenly taking a rigid pose to let the young woman’s voice, which +was of rather ordinary register, come out, Annouchka had centered the +attention of the immense audience upon herself. All the other parts +of the establishment were deserted, the tables had been removed, and a +panting crowd pressed about the open-air theater. Rouletabille stood up +on his chair at the moment tumultuous “Bravos” sounded from a group of +students. Annouchka bowed toward them, seeming to ignore the rest of +the audience, which had not dared declare itself yet. She sang the old +peasant songs arranged to present-day taste, and interspersed them with +dances. They had an enormous success, because she gave her whole soul +to them and sang with her voice sometimes caressing, sometimes menacing, +and sometimes magnificently desperate, giving much significance to words +which on paper had not aroused the suspicions of the censor. The +taste of the day was obviously still a taste for the revolution, which +retained its influence on the banks of the Neva. What she was doing was +certainly very bold, and apparently she realized how audacious she was, +because, with great adroitness, she would bring out immediately after +some dangerous phrase a patriotic couplet which everybody was anxious to +applaud. She succeeded by such means in appealing to all the divergent +groups of her audience and secured a complete triumph for herself. The +students, the revolutionaries, the radicals and the cadets acclaimed the +singer, glorifying not only her art but also and beyond everything else +the sister of the engineer Volkousky, who had been doomed to perish with +her brother by the bullets of the Semenovsky regiment. The friends of +the Court on their side could not forget that it was she who, in front +of the Kremlin, had struck aside the arm of Constantin Kochkarof, +ordered by the Central Revolutionary Committee to assassinate the Grand +Duke Peter Alexandrovitch as he drove up to the governor’s house in +his sleigh. The bomb burst ten feet away, killing Constantin Kochkarof +himself. It may be that before death came he had time to hear +Annouchka cry to him, “Wretch! You were told to kill the prince, not to +assassinate his children.” As it happened, Peter Alexandrovitch held +on his knees the two little princesses, seven and eight years old. The +Court had wished to recompense her for that heroic act. Annouchka had +spit at the envoy of the Chief of Police who called to speak to her +of money. At the Hermitage in Moscow, where she sang then, some of +her admirers had warned her of possible reprisals on the part of the +revolutionaries. But the revolutionaries gave her assurance at once that +she had nothing to fear. They approved her act and let her know that +they now counted on her to kill the Grand Duke some time when he was +alone; which had made Annouchka laugh. She was an enfant terrible, +whose friends no one knew, who passed for very wise, and whose lines of +intrigue were inscrutable. She enjoyed making her hosts in the private +supper-rooms quake over their meal. One day she had said bluntly to one +of the most powerful tchinovnicks of Moscow: “You, my old friend, you +are president of the Black Hundred. Your fate is sealed. Yesterday you +were condemned to death by the delegates of the Central Committee at +Presnia. Say your prayers.” The man reached for champagne. He never +finished his glass. The dvornicks carried him out stricken with +apoplexy. Since the time she saved the little grand-duchesses the police +had orders to allow her to act and talk as she pleased. She had been +mixed up in the deepest plots against the government. Those who lent +the slightest countenance to such plottings and were not of the police +simply disappeared. Their friends dared not even ask for news of them. +The only thing not in doubt about them was that they were at hard labor +somewhere in the mines of the Ural Mountains. At the moment of +the revolution Annouchka had a brother who was an engineer on the +Kasan-Moscow line. This Volkousky was one of the leaders on the Strike +Committee. The authorities had an eye on him. The revolution started. +He, with the help of his sister, accomplished one of those formidable +acts which will carry their memory as heroes to the farthest posterity. +Their work accomplished, they were taken by Trebassof’s soldiers. Both +were condemned to death. Volkousky was executed first, and the sister +was taking her turn when an officer of the government arrived on +horseback to stop the firing. The Tsar, informed of her intended fate, +had sent a pardon by telegraph. After that she disappeared. She was +supposed to have gone on some tour across Europe, as was her habit, +for she spoke all the languages, like a true Bohemian. Now she had +reappeared in all her joyous glory at Krestowsky. It was certain, +however, that she had not forgotten her brother. Gossips said that if +the government and the police showed themselves so long-enduring they +found it to their interest to do so. The open, apparent life Annouchka +led was less troublesome to them than her hidden activities would be. +The lesser police who surrounded the Chief of the St. Petersburg Secret +Service, the famous Gounsovski, had meaning smiles when the matter +was discussed. Among them Annouchka had the ignoble nickname, +“Stool-pigeon.” + +Rouletabille must have been well aware of all these particulars +concerning Annouchka, for he betrayed no astonishment at the great +interest and the strong emotion she aroused. From the corner where he +was he could see only a bit of the stage, and he was standing on tiptoes +to see the singer when he felt his coat pulled. He turned. It was +the jolly advocate, well known for his gastronomic feats, Athanase +Georgevitch, along with the jolly Imperial councilor, Ivan Petrovitch, +who motioned him to climb down. + +“Come with us; we have a box.” + +Rouletabille did not need urging, and he was soon installed in the front +of a box where he could see the stage and the public both. Just then the +curtain fell on the first part of Annouchka’s performance. The friends +were soon rejoined by Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff, the great timber-merchant, +who came from behind the scenes. + +“I have been to see the beautiful Onoto,” announced the Lithuanian with +a great satisfied laugh. “Tell me the news. All the girls are sulking +over Annouchka’s success.” + +“Who dragged you into the Onoto’s dressing-room then?" demanded Athanase. + +“Oh, Gounsovski himself, my dear. He is very amateurish, you know.” + +“What! do you knock around with Gounsovski?” + +“On my word, I tell you, dear friends, he isn’t a bad acquaintance. He +did me a little service at Bakou last year. A good acquaintance in these +times of public trouble.” + +“You are in the oil business now, are you?” + +“Oh, yes, a little of everything for a livelihood. I have a little well +down Bakou way, nothing big; and a little house, a very small one for my +small business.” + +“What a monopolist Thaddeus is,” declared Athanase Georgevitch, hitting +him a formidable slap on the thigh with his enormous hand. “Gounsovski +has come himself to keep an eye on Annouchka’s debut, eh? Only he goes +into Onoto’s dressing-room, the rogue.” + +“Oh, he doesn’t trouble himself. Do you know who he is to have supper +with? With Annouchka, my dears, and we are invited.” + +“How’s that?” inquired the jovial councilor. + +“It seems Gounsovski influenced the minister to permit Annouchka’s +performance by declaring he would be responsible for it all. He required +from Annouchka solely that she have supper with him on the evening of +her debut.” + +“And Annouchka consented?” + +“That was the condition, it seems. For that matter, they say that +Annouchka and Gounsovski don’t get along so badly together. Gounsovski +has done Annouchka many a good turn. They say he is in love with her.” + +“He has the air of an umbrella merchant,” snorted Athanase Georgevitch. + +“Have you seen him at close range?” inquired Ivan. + +“I have dined at his house, though it is nothing to boast of, on my +word.” + +“That is what he said,” replied Thaddeus. “When he knew we were here +together, he said to me: ‘Bring him, he is a charming fellow who plies +a great fork; and bring that dear man Ivan Petrovitch, and all your +friends.’” + +“Oh, I only dined at his house,” grumbled Athanase, “because there was a +favor he was going to do me.” + +“He does services for everybody, that man,” observed Ivan Petrovitch. + +“Of course, of course; he ought to,” retorted Athanase. “What is a chief +of Secret Service for if not to do things for everybody? For everybody, +my dear friends, and a little for himself besides. A chief of Secret +Service has to be in with everybody, with everybody and his father, +as La Fontaine says (if you know that author), if he wants to hold his +place. You know what I mean.” + +Athanase laughed loudly, glad of the chance to show how French he could +be in his allusions, and looked at Rouletabille to see if he had been +able to catch the tone of the conversation; but Rouletabille was too +much occupied in watching a profile wrapped in a mantilla of black lace, +in the Spanish fashion, to repay Athanase’s performance with a knowing +smile. + +“You certainly have naive notions. You think a chief of Secret Police +should be an ogre,” replied the advocate as he nodded here and there to +his friends. + +“Why, certainly not. He needs to be a sheep in a place like that, a +thorough sheep. Gounsovski is soft as a sheep. The time I dined with him +he had mutton streaked with fat. He is just like that. I am sure he is +mainly layers of fat. When you shake hands you feel as though you +had grabbed a piece of fat. My word! And when he eats he wags his jaw +fattishly. His head is like that, too; bald, you know, with a cranium +like fresh lard. He speaks softly and looks at you like a kid looking to +its mother for a juicy meal.” + +“But--why--it is Natacha!” murmured the lips of the young man. + +“Certainly it is Natacha, Natacha herself,” exclaimed Ivan Petrovitch, +who had used his glasses the better to see whom the young French +journalist was looking at. “Ah, the dear child! she has wanted to see +Annouchka for a long time.” + +“What, Natacha! So it is. So it is. Natacha! Natacha!” said the others. +“And with Boris Mourazoff’s parents.” + +“But Boris is not there,” sniggered Thaddeus Tehitchnikoff. + +“Oh, he can’t be far away. If he was there we would see Michael +Korsakoff too. They keep close on each other’s heels.” + +“How has she happened to leave the general? She said she couldn’t bear +to be away from him.” + +“Except to see Annouchka,” replied Ivan. “She wanted to see her, and +talked so about it when I was there that even Feodor Feodorovitch was +rather scandalized at her and Matrena Petrovna reproved her downright +rudely. But what a girl wishes the gods bring about. That’s the way.” + +“That’s so, I know,” put in Athanase. “Ivan Petrovitch is right. Natacha +hasn’t been able to hold herself in since she read that Annouchka was +going to make her debut at Krestowsky. She said she wasn’t going to die +without having seen the great artist.” + +“Her father had almost drawn her away from that crowd,” affirmed Ivan, +“and that was as it should be. She must have fixed up this affair with +Boris and his parents.” + +“Yes, Feodor certainly isn’t aware that his daughter’s idea was to +applaud the heroine of Kasan station. She is certainly made of stern +stuff, my word,” said Athanase. + +“Natacha, you must remember, is a student,” said Thaddeus, shaking his +head; “a true student. They have misfortunes like that now in so many +families. I recall, apropos of what Ivan said just now, how today she +asked Michael Korsakoff, before me, to let her know where Annouchka +would sing. More yet, she said she wished to speak to that artist if it +were possible. Michael frowned on that idea, even before me. But Michael +couldn’t refuse her, any more than the others. He can reach Annouchka +easier than anyone else. You remember it was he who rode hard and +arrived in time with the pardon for that beautiful witch; she ought not +to forget him if she cared for her life.” + +“Anyone who knows Michael Nikolaievitch knows that he did his duty +promptly,” announced Athanase Georgevitch crisply. “But he would not +have gone a step further to save Annouchka. Even now he won’t compromise +his career by being seen at the home of a woman who is never from +under the eyes of Gounsovski’s agents and who hasn’t been nicknamed +‘Stool-pigeon’ for nothing.” + +“Then why do we go to supper tonight with Annouchka?” asked Ivan. + +“That’s not the same thing. We are invited by Gounsovski himself. Don’t +forget that, if stories concerning it drift about some day, my friends,” + said Thaddeus. + +“For that matter, Thaddeus, I accept the invitation of the honorable +chief of our admirable Secret Service because I don’t wish to slight +him. I have dined at his house already. By sitting opposite him at a +public table here I feel that I return that politeness. What do you say +to that?” + +“Since you have dined with him, tell us what kind of a man he is aside +from his fattish qualities,” said the curious councilor. “So many things +are said about him. He certainly seems to be a man it is better to stand +in with than to fall out with, so I accept his invitation. How could you +manage to refuse it, anyway?” + +“When he first offered me hospitality,” explained the advocate, “I +didn’t even know him. I never had been near him. One day a police agent +came and invited me to dinner by command--or, at least, I understood it +wasn’t wise to refuse the invitation, as you said, Ivan Petrovitch. When +I went to his house I thought I was entering a fortress, and inside I +thought it must be an umbrella shop. There were umbrellas everywhere, +and goloshes. True, it was a day of pouring rain. I was struck by there +being no guard with a big revolver in the antechamber. He had a little, +timid schwitzar there, who took my umbrella, murmuring ‘barine’ and +bowing over and over again. He conducted me through very ordinary rooms +quite unguarded to an average sitting-room of a common kind. We dined +with Madame Gounsovski, who appeared fattish like her husband, and three +or four men whom I had never seen anywhere. One servant waited on us. My +word! + +“At dessert Gounsovski took me aside and told me I was unwise to ‘argue +that way.’ I asked him what he meant by that. He took my hands between +his fat hands and repeated, ‘No, no, it is not wise to argue like that.’ +I couldn’t draw anything else out of him. For that matter, I understood +him, and, you know, since that day I have cut out certain side passages +unnecessary in my general law pleadings that had been giving me a +reputation for rather too free opinions in the papers. None of that +at my age! Ah, the great Gounsovski! Over our coffee I asked him if he +didn’t find the country in pretty strenuous times. He replied that he +looked forward with impatience to the month of May, when he could go for +a rest to a little property with a small garden that he had bought at +Asnieres, near Paris. When he spoke of their house in the country Madame +Gounsovski heaved a sigh of longing for those simple country joys. The +month of May brought tears to her eyes. Husband and wife looked at one +another with real tenderness. They had not the air of thinking for one +second: to-morrow or the day after, before our country happiness comes, +we may find ourselves stripped of everything. No! They were sure of +their happy vacation and nothing seemed able to disquiet them under +their fat. Gounsovski has done everybody so many services that no one +really wishes him ill, poor man. Besides, have you noticed, my dear old +friends, that no one ever tries to work harm to chiefs of Secret +Police? One goes after heads of police, prefects of police, ministers, +grand-dukes, and even higher, but the chiefs of Secret Police are never, +never attacked. They can promenade tranquilly in the streets or in the +gardens of Krestowsky or breathe the pure air of the Finland country or +even the country around Paris. They have done so many little favors for +this one and that, here and there, that no one wishes to do them the +least injury. Each person always thinks, too, that others have been less +well served than he. That is the secret of the thing, my friends, that +is the secret. What do you say?” + +The others said: “Ah, ah, the good Gounsovski. He knows. He knows. +Certainly, accept his supper. With Annouchka it will be fun.” + +“Messieurs,” asked Rouletabille, who continued to make discoveries in +the audience, “do you know that officer who is seated at the end of a +row down there in the orchestra seats? See, he is getting up.” + +“He? Why, that is Prince Galitch, who was one of the richest lords of +the North Country. Now he is practically ruined.” + +“Thanks, gentlemen; certainly it is he. I know him,” said Rouletabille, +seating himself and mastering his emotion. + +“They say he is a great admirer of Annouchka,” hazarded Thaddeus. Then +he walked away from the box. + +“The prince has been ruined by women,” said Athanase Georgevitch, who +pretended to know the entire chronicle of gallantries in the empire. + +“He also has been on good terms with Gounsovski,” continued Thaddeus. + +“He passes at court, though, for an unreliable. He once made a long +visit to Tolstoi.” + +“Bah! Gounsovski must have rendered some signal service to that +imprudent prince,” concluded Athanase. “But for yourself, Thaddeus, you +haven’t said what you did with Gounsovski at Bakou.” + +(Rouletabille did not lose a word of what was being said around him, +although he never lost sight of the profile hidden in the black mantle +nor of Prince Galitch, his personal enemy,* who reappeared, it seemed +to him, at a very critical moment.) + + * as told in “The Lady In Black.” + +“I was returning from Balakani in a drojki,” said Thaddeus +Tchitchnikoff, “and I was drawing near Bakou after having seen the +debris of my oil shafts that had been burned by the Tartars, when I met +Gounsovski in the road, who, with two of his friends, found themselves +badly off with one of the wheels of their carriage broken. I stopped. +He explained to me that he had a Tartar coachman, and that this coachman +having seen an Armenian on the road before him, could find nothing +better to do than run full tilt into the Armenian’s equipage. He had +reached over and taken the reins from him, but a wheel of the carriage +was broken.” (Rouletabille quivered, because he caught a glance of +communication between Prince Galitch and Natacha, who was leaning over +the edge of her box.) “So I offered to take Gounsovski and his friends +into my carriage, and we rode all together to Bakou after Gounsovski, +who always wishes to do a service, as Athanase Georgevitch says, had +warned his Tartar coachman not to finish the Armenian.” (Prince Galitch, +at the moment the orchestra commenced the introductory music for +Annouchka’s new number, took advantage of all eyes being turned toward +the rising curtain to pass near Natacha’s seat. This time he did not +look at Natacha, but Rouletabille was sure that his lips had moved as he +went by her.) + +Thaddeus continued: “It is necessary to explain that at Bakou my little +house is one of the first before you reach the quay. I had some Armenian +employees there. When arrived, what do you suppose I saw? A file of +soldiers with cannon, yes, with a cannon, on my word, turned against my +house and an officer saying quietly, ‘there it is. Fire!’” (Rouletabille +made yet another discovery--two, three discoveries. Near by, standing +back of Natacha’s seat, was a figure not unknown to the young reporter, +and there, in one of the orchestra chairs, were two other men whose +faces he had seen that same morning in Koupriane’s barracks. Here was +where a memory for faces stood him in good stead. He saw that he was not +the only person keeping close watch on Natacha.) “When I heard what the +officer said,” Thaddeus went on, “I nearly dropped out of the drojki. +I hurried to the police commissioner. He explained the affair promptly, +and I was quick to understand. During my absence one of my Armenian +employees had fired at a Tartar who was passing. For that matter, he had +killed him. The governor was informed and had ordered the house to be +bombarded, for an example, as had been done with several others. I found +Gounsovski and told him the trouble in two words. He said it wasn’t +necessary for him to interfere in the affair, that I had only to talk +to the officer. ‘Give him a good present, a hundred roubles, and he will +leave your house. I went back to the officer and took him aside; he said +he wanted to do anything that he could for me, but that the order was +positive to bombard the house. I reported his answer to Gounsovski, who +told me: ‘Tell him then to turn the muzzle of the cannon the other way +and bombard the building of the chemist across the way, then he can +always say that he mistook which house was intended.’ I did that, and he +had them turn the cannon. They bombarded the chemist’s place, and I got +out of the whole thing for the hundred roubles. Gounsovski, the good +fellow, may be a great lump of fat and be like an umbrella merchant, but +I have always been grateful to him from the bottom of my heart, you can +understand, Athanase Georgevitch.” + +“What reputation has Prince Galitch at the court?” inquired Rouletabille +all at once. + +“Oh, oh!” laughed the others. “Since he went so openly to visit Tolstoi +he doesn’t go to the court any more.” + +“And--his opinions? What are his opinions?” + +“Oh, the opinions of everybody are so mixed nowadays, nobody knows.” + +Ivan Petrovitch said, “He passes among some people as very advanced and +very much compromised.” + +“Yet they don’t bother him?” inquired Rouletabille. + +“Pooh, pooh,” replied the gay Councilor of Empire, “it is rather he who +tries to mix with them.” + +Thaddeus stooped down and said, “They say that he can’t be reached +because of the hold he has over a certain great personage in the court, +and it would be a scandal--a great scandal.” + +“Be quiet, Thaddeus,” interrupted Athanase Georgevitch, roughly. “It +is easy to see that you are lately from the provinces to speak so +recklessly, but if you go on this way I shall leave.” + +“Athanase Georgevitch is right; hang onto your mouth, Thaddeus,” + counseled Ivan Petrovitch. + +The talkers all grew silent, for the curtain was rising. In the audience +there were mysterious allusions being made to this second number of +Annouchka, but no one seemed able to say what it was to be, and it was, +as a matter of fact, very simple. After the whirl-wind of dances and +choruses and all the splendor with which she had been accompanied the +first time, Annouchka appeared as a poor Russian peasant in a scene +representing the barren steppes, and very simply she sank to her knees +and recited her evening prayers. Annouchka was singularly beautiful. +Her aquiline nose with sensitive nostrils, the clean-cut outline of +her eyebrows, her look that now was almost tender, now menacing, always +unusual, her pale rounded cheeks and the entire expression of her face +showed clearly the strength of new ideas, spontaneity, deep resolution +and, above all, passion. The prayer was passionate. She had an admirable +contralto voice which affected the audience strangely from its very +first notes. She asked God for daily bread for everyone in the immense +Russian land, daily bread for the flesh and for the spirit, and she +stirred the tears of everyone there, to which-ever party they belonged. +And when, as her last note sped across the desolate steppe and she rose +and walked toward the miserable hut, frantic bravos from a delirious +audience told her the prodigious emotions she had aroused. Little +Rouletabille, who, not understanding the words, nevertheless caught the +spirit of that prayer, wept. Everybody wept. Ivan Petrovitch, Athanase +Georgevitch, Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff were standing up, stamping their +feet and clapping their hands like enthusiastic boys. The students, who +could be easily distinguished by the uniform green edging they wore on +their coats, uttered insensate cries. And suddenly there rose the first +strains of the national hymn. There was hesitation at first, a wavering. +But not for long. Those who had been dreading some counter-demonstration +realized that no objection could possibly be raised to a prayer for +the Tsar. All heads uncovered and the Bodje Taara Krari mounted, +unanimously, toward the stars. + +Through his tears the young reporter never gave up his close watch on +Natacha. She had half risen, and, sinking back, leaned on the edge of +the box. She called, time and time again, a name that Rouletabille +could not hear in the uproar, but that he felt sure was “Annouchka! +Annouchka!” “The reckless girl,” murmured Rouletabille, and, profiting +by the general excitement, he left the box without being noticed. +He made his way through the crowd toward Natacha, whom he had sought +futilely since morning. The audience, after clamoring in vain for a +repetition of the prayer by Annouchka, commenced to disperse, and the +reporter was swept along with them for a few moments. When he reached +the range of boxes he saw that Natacha and the family she had been +with were gone. He looked on all sides without seeing the object of his +search and like a madman commenced to run through the passages, when a +sudden idea struck his blood cold. He inquired where the exit for the +artists was and as soon as it was pointed out, he hurried there. He +was not mistaken. In the front line of the crowd that waited to see +Annouchka come out he recognized Natacha, with her head enveloped in the +black mantle so that none should see her face. Besides, this corner of +the garden was in a half-gloom. The police barred the way; he could not +approach as near Natacha as he wished. He set himself to slip like a +serpent through the crowd. He was not separated from Natacha by more +than four or five persons when a great jostling commenced. Annouchka +was coming out. Cries rose: “Annouchka! Annouchka!” Rouletabille threw +himself on his knees and on all-fours succeeded in sticking his head +through into the way kept by the police for Annouchka’s passage. +There, wrapped in a great red mantle, his hat on his arm, was a man +Rouletabille immediately recognized. It was Prince Galitch. They were +hurrying to escape the impending pressure of the crowd. But Annouchka as +she passed near Natacha stopped just a second--a movement that did not +escape Rouletabille--and, turning toward her said just the one word, +“Caracho.” Then she passed on. Rouletabille got up and forced his way +back, having once more lost Natacha. He searched for her. He ran to the +carriage-way and arrived just in time to see her seated in a carriage +with the Mourazoff family. The carriage started at once in the direction +of the datcha des Iles. The young man remained standing there, thinking. +He made a gesture as though he were ready now to let luck take its +course. “In the end,” said he, “it will be better so, perhaps,” and +then, to himself, “Now to supper, my boy.” + +He turned in his tracks and soon was established in the glaring light +of the restaurant. Officers standing, glass in hand, were saluting from +table to table and waving a thousand compliments with grace that was +almost feminine. + +He heard his name called joyously, and recognized the voice of Ivan +Petrovitch. The three boon companions were seated over a bottle of +champagne resting in its ice-bath and were being served with tiny pates +while they waited for the supper-hour, which was now near. + +Rouletabille yielded to their invitation readily enough, and accompanied +them when the head-waiter informed Thaddeus that the gentlemen were +desired in a private room. They went to the first floor and were +ushered into a large apartment whose balcony opened on the hall of +the winter-theater, empty now. But the apartment was already occupied. +Before a table covered with a shining service Gounsovski did the honors. + +He received them like a servant, with his head down, an obsequious +smile, and his back bent, bowing several times as each of the guests +were presented to him. Athanase had described him accurately enough, a +mannikin in fat. Under the vast bent brow one could hardly see his eyes, +behind the blue glasses that seemed always ready to fall as he inclined +too far his fat head with its timid and yet all-powerful glance. When he +spoke in his falsetto voice, his chin dropped in a fold over his collar, +and he had a steady gesture with the thumb and index finger of his right +hand to retain the glasses from sliding down his short, thick nose. + +Behind him there was the fine, haughty silhouette of Prince Galitch. He +had been invited by Annouchka, for she had consented to risk this supper +only in company with three or four of her friends, officers who could +not be further compromised by this affair, as they were already +under the eye of the Okrana (Secret Police) despite their high birth. +Gounsovski had seen them come with a sinister chuckle and had lavished +upon them his marks of devotion. + +He loved Annouchka. It would have sufficed to have surprised just once +the jealous glance he sent from beneath his great blue glasses when he +gazed at the singer to have understood the sentiments that actuated him +in the presence of the beautiful daughter of the Black Land. + +Annouchka was seated, or, rather, she lounged, Oriental fashion, on the +sofa which ran along the wall behind the table. She paid attention to +no one. Her attitude was forbidding, even hostile. She indifferently +allowed her marvelous black hair that fell in two tresses over her +shoulder to be caressed by the perfumed hands of the beautiful Onoto, +who had heard her this evening for the first time and had thrown herself +with enthusiasm into her arms after the last number. Onoto was an artist +too, and the pique she felt at first over Annouchka’s success could not +last after the emotion aroused by the evening prayer before the hut. +“Come to supper,” Annouchka had said to her. + +“With whom?” inquired the Spanish artist. + +“With Gounsovski.” + +“Never.” + +“Do come. You will help me pay my debt and perhaps he will be useful to +you as well. He is useful to everybody.” + +Decidedly Onoto did not understand this country, where the worst enemies +supped together. + +Rouletabille had been monopolized at once by Prince Galitch, who took +him into a corner and said: + +“What are you doing here?” + +“Do I inconvenience you?” asked the boy. + +The other assumed the amused smile of the great lord. + +“While there is still time,” he said, “believe me, you ought to start, +to quit this country. Haven’t you had sufficient notice?” + +“Yes,” replied the reporter. “And you can dispense with any further +notice from this time on.” + +He turned his back. + +“Why, it is the little Frenchman from the Trebassof villa,” commenced +the falsetto voice of Gounsovski as he pushed a seat towards the young +man and begged him to sit between him and Athanase Georgevitch, who was +already busy with the hors-d’oeuvres. + +“How do you do, monsieur?” said the beautiful, grave voice of Annouchka. + +Rouletabille saluted. + +“I see that I am in a country of acquaintances,” he said, without +appearing disturbed. + +He addressed a lively compliment to Annouchka, who threw him a kiss. + +“Rouletabille!” cried la belle Onoto. “Why, then, he is the little +fellow who solved the mystery of the Yellow Room.” + +“Himself.” + +“What are you doing here?” + +“He came to save the life of General Trebassof,” sniggered Gounsovski. +“He is certainly a brave little young man.” + +“The police know everything,” said Rouletabille coldly. And he asked for +champagne, which he never drank. + +The champagne commenced its work. While Thaddeus and the officers +told each other stories of Bakou or paid compliments to the women, +Gounsovski, who was through with raillery, leaned toward Rouletabille +and gave that young man fatherly counsel with great unction. + +“You have undertaken, young man, a noble task and one all the more +difficult because General Trebassof is condemned not only by his enemies +but still more by the ignorance of Koupriane. Understand me thoroughly: +Koupriane is my friend and a man whom I esteem very highly. He is good, +brave as a warrior, but I wouldn’t give a kopeck for his police. He has +mixed in our affairs lately by creating his own secret police, but +I don’t wish to meddle with that. It amuses us. It’s the new style, +anyway; everybody wants his secret police nowadays. And yourself, young +man, what, after all, are you doing here? Reporting? No. Police work? +That is our business and your business. I wish you good luck, but I +don’t expect it. Remember that if you need any help I will give it you +willingly. I love to be of service. And I don’t wish any harm to befall +you.” + +“You are very kind, monsieur,” was all Rouletabille replied, and he +called again for champagne. + +Several times Gounsovski addressed remarks to Annouchka, who concerned +herself with her meal and had little answer for him. + +“Do you know who applauded you the most this evening?” + +“No,” said Annouchka indifferently. + +“The daughter of General Trebassof.” + +“Yes, that is true, on my word,” cried Ivan Petrovitch. + +“Yes, yes, Natacha was there,” joined in the other friends from the +datcha des Iles. + +“For me, I saw her weep,” said Rouletabille, looking at Annouchka +fixedly. + +But Annouchka replied in an icy tone: + +“I do not know her.” + +“She is unlucky in having a father...” Prince Galitch commenced. + +“Prince, no politics, or let me take my leave,” clucked Gounsovski. +“Your health, dear Annouchka.” + +“Your health, Gounsovski. But you have no worry about that.” + +“Why?” demanded Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff in equivocal fashion. + +“Because he is too useful to the government,” cried Ivan Petrovitch. + +“No,” replied Annouchka; “to the revolutionaries.” + +All broke out laughing. Gounsovski recovered his slipping glasses by +his usual quick movement and sniggered softly, insinuatingly, like fat +boiling in the pot: + +“So they say. And it is my strength.” + +“His system is excellent,” said the prince. “As he is in with everybody, +everybody is in with the police, without knowing it.” + +“They say... ah, ah... they say...” (Athanase was choking over a little +piece of toast that he had soaked in his soup) “they say that he has +driven away all the hooligans and even all the beggars of the church of +Kasan.” + +Thereupon they commenced to tell stories of the hooligans, +street-thieves who since the recent political troubles had infested St. +Petersburg and whom nobody, could get rid of without paying for it. + +Athanase Georgevitch said: + +“There are hooligans that ought to have existed even if they never have. +One of them stopped a young girl before Varsovie station. The girl, +frightened, immediately held out her purse to him, with two roubles and +fifty kopecks in it. The hooligan took it all. ‘Goodness,’ cried she, +‘I have nothing now to take my train with.’ ‘How much is it?’ asked the +hooligan. ‘Sixty kopecks.’ ‘Sixty kopecks! Why didn’t you say so?’ And +the bandit, hanging onto the two roubles, returned the fifty-kopeck +piece to the trembling child and added a ten-kopeck piece out of his own +pocket.” + +“Something quite as funny happened to me two winters ago, at Moscow,” + said la belle Onoto. “I had just stepped out of the door when I was +stopped by a hooligan. ‘Give me twenty kopecks,’ said the hooligan. I +was so frightened that I couldn’t get my purse open. ‘Quicker,’ said he. +Finally I gave him twenty kopecks. ‘Now,’ said he then, ‘kiss my hand.’ +And I had to kiss it, because he held his knife in the other.” + +“Oh, they are quick with their knives,” said Thaddeus. “As I was +leaving Gastinidvor once I was stopped by a hooligan who stuck a huge +carving-knife under my nose. ‘You can have it for a rouble and a half,’ +he said. You can believe that I bought it without any haggling. And +it was a very good bargain. It was worth at least three roubles. Your +health, belle Onoto.” + +“I always take my revolver when I go out,” said Athanase. “It is more +prudent. I say this before the police. But I would rather be arrested by +the police than stabbed by the hooligans.” + +“There’s no place any more to buy revolvers,” declared Ivan Petrovitch. +“All such places are closed.” + +Gounsovski settled his glasses, rubbed his fat hands and said: + +“There are some still at my locksmith’s place. The proof is that to-day +in the little Kaniouche my locksmith, whose name is Smith, went into the +house of the grocer at the corner and wished to sell him a revolver. It +was a Browning. ‘An arm of the greatest reliability,’ he said to him, +‘which never misses fire and which works very easily.’ Having pronounced +these words, the locksmith tried his revolver and lodged a ball in the +grocer’s lung. The grocer is dead, but before he died he bought the +revolver. ‘You are right,’ he said to the locksmith; ‘it is a terrible +weapon.’ And then he died.” + +The others laughed heartily. They thought it very funny. Decidedly this +great Gounsovski always had a funny story. Who would not like to be +his friend? Annouchka had deigned to smile. Gounsovski, in recognition, +extended his hand to her like a mendicant. The young woman touched it +with the end of her fingers, as if she were placing a twenty-kopeck +piece in the hand of a hooligan, and withdrew from it with disgust. Then +the doors opened for the Bohemians. Their swarthy troupe soon filled the +room. Every evening men and women in their native costumes came from old +Derevnia, where they lived all together in a sort of ancient patriarchal +community, with customs that had not changed for centuries; they +scattered about in the places of pleasure, in the fashionable +restaurants, where they gathered large sums, for it was a fashionable +luxury to have them sing at the end of suppers, and everyone showered +money on them in order not to be behind the others. They accompanied on +guzlas, on castanets, on tambourines, and sang the old airs, doleful and +languorous, or excitable and breathless as the flight of the earliest +nomads in the beginnings of the world. + +When they had entered, those present made place for them, and +Rouletabille, who for some moments had been showing marks of fatigue and +of a giddiness natural enough in a young man who isn’t in the habit +of drinking the finest champagnes, profited by the diversion to get a +corner of the sofa not far from Prince Galitch, who occupied the place +at Annouchka’s right. + +“Look, Rouletabaille is asleep,” remarked la belle Onoto. + +“Poor boy!” said Annouchka. + +And, turning toward Gounsovski: + +“Aren’t you soon going to get him out of our way? I heard some of our +brethren the other day speaking in a way that would cause pain to those +who care about his health.” + +“Oh, that,” said Gounsovski, shaking his head, “is an affair I have +nothing to do with. Apply to Koupriane. Your health, belle Annouchka.” + +But the Bohemians swept some opening chords for their songs, and the +singers took everybody’s attention, everybody excepting Prince Galitch +and Annouchka, who, half turned toward one another, exchanged some +words on the edge of all this musical uproar. As for Rouletabille, he +certainly must have been sleeping soundly not to have been waked by +all that noise, melodious as it was. It is true that he +had--apparently--drunk a good deal and, as everyone knows, in Russia +drink lays out those who can’t stand it. When the Bohemians had sung +three times Gounsovski made a sign that they might go to charm other +ears, and slipped into the hands of the chief of the band a twenty-five +rouble note. But Onoto wished to give her mite, and a regular collection +commenced. Each one threw roubles into the plate held out by a little +swarthy Bohemian girl with crow-black hair, carelessly combed, falling +over her forehead, her eyes and her face, in so droll a fashion that one +would have said the little thing was a weeping-willow soaked in ink. The +plate reached Prince Galitch, who futilely searched his pockets. + +“Bah!” said he, with a lordly air, “I have no money. But here is my +pocket-book; I will give it to you for a souvenir of me, Katharina.” + +Thaddeus and Athanase exclaimed at the generosity of the prince, but +Annouchka said: + +“The prince does as he should, for my friends can never sufficiently +repay the hospitality that that little thing gave me in her dirty hut +when I was in hiding, while your famous department was deciding what to +do about me, my dear Gounsovski.” + +“Eh,” replied Gounsovski, “I let you know that all you had to do was to +take a fine apartment in the city.” + +Annouchka spat on the ground like a teamster, and Gounsovski from yellow +turned green. + +“But why did you hide yourself that way, Annouchka?” asked Onoto as she +caressed the beautiful tresses of the singer. + +“You know I had been condemned to death, and then pardoned. I had been +able to leave Moscow, and I hadn’t any desire to be re-taken here and +sent to taste the joys of Siberia.” + +“But why were you condemned to death?” + +“Why, she doesn’t know anything!” exclaimed the others. + +“Good Lord, I’m just back from London and Paris--how should I know +anything! But to have been condemned to death! That must have been +amusing.” + +“Very amusing,” said Annouchka icily. “And if you have a brother whom +you love, Onoto, think how much more amusing it must be to have him shot +before you.” + +“Oh, my love, forgive me!” + +“So you may know and not give any pain to your Annouchka in the future, +I will tell you, madame, what happened to our dear friend,” said Prince +Galitch. + +“We would do better to drive away such terrible memories,” ventured +Gounsovski, lifting his eyelashes behind his glasses, but he bent his +head as Annouchka sent him a blazing glance. + +“Speak, Galitch.” + +The Prince did as she said. + +“Annouchka had a brother, Vlassof, an engineer on the Kasan line, whom +the Strike Committee had ordered to take out a train as the only means +of escape for the leaders of the revolutionary troops when Trebassof’s +soldiers, aided by the Semenowsky regiment, had become masters of the +city. The last resistance took place at the station. It was necessary +to get started. All the ways were guarded by the military. There were +soldiers everywhere! Vlassof said to his comrades, ‘I will save you;’ +and his comrades saw him mount the engine with a woman. That woman +was--well, there she sits. Vlassof’s fireman had been killed the evening +before, on a barricade; it was Annouchka who took his place. They busied +themselves and the train started like a shot. On that curved line, +discovered at once, easy to attack, under a shower of bullets, Vlassof +developed a speed of ninety versts an hour. He ran the indicator up to +the explosion point. The lady over there continued to pile coal into the +furnace. The danger came to be less from the military and more from +an explosion at any moment. In the midst of the balls Vlassof kept his +usual coolness. He sped not only with the firebox open but with the +forced draught. It was a miracle that the engine was not smashed against +the curve of the embankment. But they got past. Not a man was hurt. Only +a woman was wounded. She got a ball in the chest.” + +“There!” cried Annouchka. + +With a magnificent gesture she flung open her white and heaving chest, +and put her finger on a scar that Gounsovski, whose fat began to melt in +heavy drops of sweat about his temples, dared not look at. + +“Fifteen days later,” continued the prince, “Vlassof entered an inn +at Lubetszy. He didn’t know it was full of soldiers. His face never +altered. They searched him. They found a revolver and papers on him. +They knew whom they had to do with. He was a good prize. Vlassof was +taken to Moscow and condemned to be shot. His sister, wounded as she +was, learned of his arrest and joined him. ‘I do not wish,’ she said +to him, ‘to leave you to die alone.’ She also was condemned. Before the +execution the soldiers offered to bandage their eyes, but both refused, +saying they preferred to meet death face to face. The orders were to +shoot all the other condemned revolutionaries first, then Vlassof, +then his sister. It was in vain that Vlassof asked to die last. Their +comrades in execution sank to their knees, bleeding from their death +wounds. Vlassof embraced his sister and walked to the place of death. +There he addressed the soldiers: ‘Now you have to carry out your duty +according to the oath you have taken. Fulfill it honestly as I have +fulfilled mine. Captain, give the order.’ The volley sounded. Vlassof +remained erect, his arms crossed on his breast, safe and sound. Not a +ball had touched him. The soldiers did not wish to fire at him. He had +to summon them again to fulfill their duty, and obey their chief. Then +they fired again, and he fell. He looked at his sister with his eyes +full of horrible suffering. Seeing that he lived, and wishing to appear +charitable, the captain, upon Annouchka’s prayers, approached and cut +short his sufferings by firing a revolver into his ear. Now it was +Annouchka’s turn. She knelt by the body of her brother, kissed his +bloody lips, rose and said, ‘I am ready.’ As the guns were raised, an +officer came running, bearing the pardon of the Tsar. She did not +wish it, and she whom they had not bound when she was to die had to be +restrained when she learned she was to live.” + +Prince Galitch, amid the anguished silence of all there, started to +add some words of comment to his sinister recital, but Annouchka +interrupted: + +“The story is ended,” said she. “Not a word, Prince. If I asked you +to tell it in all its horror, if I wished you to bring back to us the +atrocious moment of my brother’s death, it is so that monsieur” (her +fingers pointed to Gounsovski) “shall know well, once for all, that if +I have submitted for some hours now to this promiscuous company that has +been imposed upon me, now that I have paid the debt by accepting this +abominable supper, I have nothing more to do with this purveyor of +bagnios and of hangman’s ropes who is here.” + +“She is mad,” he muttered. “She is mad. What has come over her? What has +happened? Only to-day she was so, so amiable.” + +And he stuttered, desolately, with an embarrassed laugh: + +“Ah, the women, the women! Now what have I done to her?” + +“What have you done to me, wretch? Where are Belachof, Bartowsky and +Strassof? And Pierre Slutch? All the comrades who swore with me to +revenge my brother? Where are they? On what gallows did you have them +hung? What mine have you buried them in? And still you follow your +slavish task. And my friends, my other friends, the poor comrades of my +artist life, the inoffensive young men who have not committed any +other crime than to come to see me too often when I was lively, and who +believed they could talk freely in my dressing-room--where are they? +Why have they left me, one by one? Why have they disappeared? It is you, +wretch, who watched them, who spied on them, making me, I haven’t any +doubt, your horrible accomplice, mixing me up in your beastly work, you +dog! You knew what they call me. You have known it for a long time, and +you may well laugh over it. But I, I never knew until this evening; I +never learned until this evening all I owe to you. ‘Stool pigeon! Stool +pigeon!’ I! Horror! Ah, you dog, you dog! Your mother, when you were +brought into the world, your mother...” Here she hurled at him the most +offensive insult that a Russian can offer a man of that race. + +She trembled and sobbed with rage, spat in fury, and stood up ready to +go, wrapped in her mantle like a great red flag. She was the statue of +hate and vengeance. She was horrible and terrible. She was beautiful. +At the final supreme insult, Gounsovski started and rose to his feet as +though he had received an actual blow in the face. He did not look at +Annouchka, but fixed his eyes on Prince Galitch. His finger pointed him +out: + +“There is the man,” he hissed, “who has told you all these fine things.” + +“Yes, it is I,” said the Prince, tranquilly. + +“Caracho!” barked Gounsovski, instantaneously regaining his coolness. + +“Ah, yes, but you’ll not touch him,” clamored the spirited girl of the +Black Land; “you are not strong enough for that.” + +“I know that monsieur has many friends at court,” agreed the chief of +the Secret Service with an ominous calm. “I don’t wish ill to monsieur. +You speak, madame, of the way some of your friends have had to be +sacrificed. I hope that some day you will be better informed, and that +you will understand I saved all of them I could.” + +“Let us go,” muttered Annouchka. “I shall spit in his face.” + +“Yes, all I could,” replied the other, with his habitual gesture of +hanging on to his glasses. “And I shall continue to do so. I promise you +not to say anything more disagreeable to the prince than as regards his +little friend the Bohemian Katharina, whom he has treated so generously +just now, doubtless because Boris Mourazoff pays her too little for the +errands she runs each morning to the villa of Krestowsky Ostrow.” + +At these words the Prince and Annouchka both changed countenance. Their +anger rose. Annouchka turned her head as though to arrange the folds +of her cloak. Galitch contented himself with shrugging his shoulders +impatiently and murmuring: + +“Still some other abomination that you are concocting, monsieur, and +that we don’t know how to reply to.” + +After which he bowed to the supper-party, took Annouchka’s arm and had +her move before him. Gounsovski bowed, almost bent in two. When he rose +he saw before him the three astounded and horrified figures of Thaddeus +Tchitchnikoff, Ivan Petrovitch and Athanase Georgevitch. + +“Messieurs,” he said to them, in a colorless voice which seemed not to +belong to him, “the time has come for us to part. I need not say that we +have supped as friends and that, if you wish it to be so, we can forget +everything that has been said here.” + +The three others, frightened, at once protested their discretion. +He added, roughly this time, “Service of the Tsar,” and the three +stammered, “God save the Tsar!” After which he saw them to the door. +When the door had closed after them, he said, “My little Annouchka, +you mustn’t reckon without me.” He hurried toward the sofa, where +Rouletabille was lying forgotten, and gave him a tap on the shoulder. + +“Come, get up. Don’t act as though you were asleep. Not an instant +to lose. They are going to carry through the Trebassof affair this +evening.” + +Rouletabille was already on his legs. + +“Oh, monsieur,” said he, “I didn’t want you to tell me that. Thanks all +the same, and good evening.” + +He went out. + +Gounsovski rang. A servant appeared. + +“Tell them they may now open all the rooms on this corridor; I’ll not +hold them any longer.” Thus had Gounsovski kept himself protected. + +Left alone, the head of the Secret Service wiped his brow and drank a +great glass of iced water which he emptied at a draught. Then he said: + +“Koupriane will have his work cut out for him this evening; I wish him +good luck. As to them, whatever happens, I wash my hands of them.” + +And he rubbed his hands. + + + + + +X. A DRAMA IN THE NIGHT + +At the door of the Krestowsky Rouletabille, who was in a hurry for +a conveyance, jumped into an open carriage where la belle Onoto was +already seated. The dancer caught him on her knees. + +“To Eliaguine, fast as you can,” cried the reporter for all explanation. + +“Scan! Scan! (Quickly, quickly)” repeated Onoto. + +She was accompanied by a vague sort of person to whom neither of them +paid the least attention. + +“What a supper! You waked up at last, did you?” quizzed the actress. But +Rouletabille, standing up behind the enormous coachman, urged the horses +and directed the route of the carriage. They bolted along through the +night at a dizzy pace. At the corner of a bridge he ordered the horses +stopped, thanked his companions and disappeared. + +“What a country! What a country! Caramba!” said the Spanish artist. + +The carriage waited a few minutes, then turned back toward the city. + +Rouletabille got down the embankment and slowly, taking infinite +precautions not to reveal his presence by making the least noise, made +his way to where the river is widest. Seen through the blackness of the +night the blacker mass of the Trebassof villa loomed like an enormous +blot, he stopped. Then he glided like a snake through the reeds, the +grass, the ferns. He was at the back of the villa, near the river, not +far from the little path where he had discovered the passage of the +assassin, thanks to the broken cobwebs. At that moment the moon rose and +the birch-trees, which just before had been like great black staffs, now +became white tapers which seemed to brighten that sinister solitude. + +The reporter wished to profit at once by the sudden luminance to learn +if his movements had been noticed and if the approaches to the villa on +that side were guarded. He picked up a small pebble and threw it some +distance from him along the path. At the unexpected noise three or four +shadowy heads were outlined suddenly in the white light of the moon, but +disappeared at once, lost again in the dark tufts of grass. + +He had gained his information. + +The reporter’s acute ear caught a gliding in his direction, a slight +swish of twigs; then all at once a shadow grew by his side and he felt +the cold of a revolver barrel on his temple. He said “Koupriane,” and at +once a hand seized his and pressed it. + +The night had become black again. He murmured: “How is it you are here +in person?” + +The Prefect of Police whispered in his ear: + +“I have been informed that something will happen to-night. Natacha went +to Krestowsky and exchanged some words with Annouchka there. Prince +Galitch is involved, and it is an affair of State.” + +“Natacha has returned?” inquired Rouletabille. + +“Yes, a long time ago. She ought to be in bed. In any case she is +pretending to be abed. The light from her chamber, in the window over +the garden, has been put out.” + +“Have you warned Matrena Petrovna?” + +“Yes, I have let her know that she must keep on the sharp look-out +to-night.” + +“That’s a mistake. I shouldn’t have told her anything. She will take +such extra precautions that the others will be instantly warned.” + +“I have told her she should not go to the ground-floor at all this +night, and that she must not leave the general’s chamber.” + +“That is perfect, if she will obey you.” + +“You see I have profited by all your information. I have followed your +instructions. The road from the Krestowsky is under surveillance.” + +“Perhaps too much. How are you planning?” + +“We will let them enter. I don’t know whom I have to deal with. I want +to strike a sure blow. I shall take him in the act. No more doubt after +this, you trust me.” + +“Adieu.” + +“Where are you going?” + +“To bed. I have paid my debt to my host. I have the right to some repose +now. Good luck!” + +But Koupriane had seized his hand. + +“Listen.” + +With a little attention they detected a light stroke on the water. If +a boat was moving at this time for this bank of the Neva and wished to +remain hidden, the right moment had certainly been chosen. A great black +cloud covered the moon; the wind was light. The boat would have time to +get from one bank to the other without being discovered. Rouletabille +waited no longer. On all-fours he ran like a beast, rapidly and +silently, and rose behind the wall of the villa, where he made a turn, +reached the gate, aroused the dvornicks and demanded Ermolai, who opened +the gate for him. + +“The Barinia?” he said. + +Ermolai pointed his finger to the bedroom floor. + +“Caracho!” + +Rouletabille was already across the garden and had hoisted himself by +his fingers to the window of Natacha’s chamber, where he listened. He +plainly heard Natacha walking about in the dark chamber. He fell back +lightly onto his feet, mounted the veranda steps and opened the door, +then closed it so lightly that Ermolai, who watched him from outside not +two feet away, did not hear the slightest grinding of the hinges. Inside +the villa Rouletabille advanced on tiptoe. He found the door of the +drawing-room open. The door of the sitting-room had not been closed, or +else had been reopened. He turned in his tracks, felt in the dark for a +chair and sat down, with his hand on his revolver in his pocket, waiting +for the events that would not delay long now. Above he heard distinctly +from time to time the movements of Matrena Petrovna. And this would +evidently give a sense of security to those who needed to have the +ground-floor free this night. Rouletabille imagined that the doors of +the rooms on the ground-floor had been left open so that it would be +easier for those who would be below to hear what was happening upstairs. +And perhaps he was not wrong. + +Suddenly there was a vertical bar of pale light from the sitting-room +that overlooked the Neva. He deduced two things: first, that the window +was already slightly open, then that the moon was out from the clouds +again. The bar of light died almost instantly, but Rouletabille’s eyes, +now used to the obscurity, still distinguished the open line of the +window. There the shade was less deep. Suddenly he felt the blood pound +at his temples, for the line of the open window grew larger, increased, +and the shadow of a man gradually rose on the balcony. Rouletabille drew +his revolver. + +The man stood up immediately behind one of the shutters and struck a +light blow on the glass. Placed as he was now he could be seen no more. +His shadow mixed with the shadow of the shutter. At the noise on +the glass Natacha’s door had opened cautiously, and she entered the +sitting-room. On tiptoe she went quickly to the window and opened it. +The man entered. The little light that by now was commencing to dawn +was enough to show Rouletabille that Natacha still wore the toilette in +which he had seen her that same evening at Krestowsky. As for the man, +he tried in vain to identify him; he was only a dark mass wrapped in +a mantle. He leaned over and kissed Natacha’s hand. She said only one +word: “Scan!” (Quickly). + +But she had no more than said it before, under a vigorous attack, the +shutters and the two halves of the window were thrown wide, and silent +shadows jumped rapidly onto the balcony and sprang into the villa. +Natacha uttered a shrill cry in which Rouletabille believed still he +heard more of despair than terror, and the shadows threw themselves on +the man; but he, at the first alarm, had thrown himself upon the carpet +and had slipped from them between their legs. He regained the balcony +and jumped from it as the others turned toward him. At least, it was +so that Rouletabille believed he saw the mysterious struggle go in the +half-light, amid most impressive silence, after that frightened cry of +Natacha’s. The whole affair had lasted only a few seconds, and the man +was still hanging over the balcony, when from the bottom of the hall a +new person sprang. It was Matrena Petrovna. + +Warned by Koupriane that something would happen that night, and +foreseeing that it would happen on the ground-floor where she was +forbidden to be, she had found nothing better to do than to make her +faithful maid go secretly to the bedroom floor, with orders to walk +about there all night, to make all think she herself was near the +general, while she remained below, hidden in the dining-room. + +Matrena Petrovna now threw herself out onto the balcony, crying in +Russian, “Shoot! Shoot!” In just that moment the man was hesitating +whether to risk the jump and perhaps break his neck, or descend less +rapidly by the gutter-pipe. A policeman fired and missed him, and the +man, after firing back and wounding the policeman, disappeared. It was +still too far from dawn for them to see clearly what happened below, +where the barking of Brownings alone was heard. And there could be +nothing more sinister than the revolver-shots unaccompanied by cries in +the mists of the morning. The man, before he disappeared, had had only +time by a quick kick to throw down one of the two ladders which had been +used by the police in climbing; down the other one all the police in a +bunch, even to the wounded one, went sliding, falling, rising, running +after the shadow which fled still, discharging the Browning steadily; +other shadows rose from the river-bank, hovering in the mist. Suddenly +Koupriane’s voice was heard shouting orders, calling upon his agents to +take the quarry alive or dead. From the balcony Matrena Petrovna cried +out also, like a savage, and Rouletabille tried in vain to keep her +quiet. She was delirious at the thought “The Other” might escape yet. +She fired a revolver, she also, into the group, not knowing whom she +might wound. Rouletabille grabbed her arm and as she turned on him +angrily she observed Natacha, who, leaning until she almost fell over +the balcony, her lips trembling with delirious utterance, followed as +well as she could the progress of the struggle, trying to understand +what happened below, under the trees, near the Neva, where the tumult +by now extended. Matrena Petrovna pulled her back by the arms. Then she +took her by the neck and threw her into the drawing-room in a heap. When +she had almost strangled her step-daughter, Matrena Petrovna saw that +the general was there. He appeared in the pale glimmerings of dawn like +a specter. By what miracle had Feodor Feodorovitch been able to descend +the stairs and reach there? How had it been brought about? She saw him +tremble with anger or with wretchedness under the folds of the soldier’s +cape that floated about him. He demanded in a hoarse voice, “What is +it?” + +Matrena Petrovna threw herself at his feet, made the orthodox sign of +the Cross, as if she wished to summon God to witness, and then, pointing +to Natacha, she denounced his daughter to her husband as she would have +pointed her out to a judge. + +“The one, Feodor Feodorovitch, who has wished more than once to +assassinate you, and who this night has opened the datcha to your +assassin is your daughter.” + +The general held himself up by his two hands against the wall, and, +looking at Matrena and Natacha, who now were both upon the floor before +him like suppliants, he said to Matrena: + +“It is you who assassinate me.” + +“Me! By the living God!” babbled Matrena Petrovna desperately. “If I had +been able to keep this from you, Jesus would have been good! But I say +no more to crucify you. Feodor Feodorovitch, question your daughter, +and if what I have said is not true, kill me, kill me as a lying, evil +beast. I will say thank you, thank you, and I will die happier than if +what I have said was true. Ah, I long to be dead! Kill me!” + +Feodor Feodorovitch pushed her back with his stick as one would push +a worm in his path. Without saying anything further, she rose from +her knees and looked with her haggard eyes, with her crazed face, at +Rouletabille, who grasped her arm. If she had had her hands still free +she would not have hesitated a second in wreaking justice upon herself +under this bitter fate of alienating Feodor. And it seemed frightful to +Rouletabille that he should be present at one of those horrible family +dramas the issue of which in the wild times of Peter the Great would +have sent the general to the hangman either as a father or as a husband. + +The general did not deign even to consider for any length of time +Matrena’s delirium. He said to his daughter, who shook with sobs on the +floor, “Rise, Natacha Feodorovna.” And Feodor’s daughter understood that +her father never would believe in her guilt. She drew herself up towards +him and kissed his hands like a happy slave. + +At this moment repeated blows shook the veranda door. Matrena, the +watch-dog, anxious to die after Feodor’s reproach, but still at +her post, ran toward what she believed to be a new danger. But she +recognized Koupriane’s voice, which called on her to open. She let him +in herself. + +“What is it?” she implored. + +“Well, he is dead.” + +A cry answered him. Natacha had heard. + +“But who--who--who?” questioned Matrena breathlessly. + +Koupriane went over to Feodor and grasped his hands. + +“General,” he said, “there was a man who had sworn your ruin and who was +made an instrument by your enemies. We have just killed that man.” + +“Do I know him?” demanded Feodor. + +“He is one of your friends, you have treated him like a son.” + +“His name?” + +“Ask your daughter, General.” + +Feodor turned toward Natacha, who burned Koupriane with her gaze, trying +to learn what this news was he brought--the truth or a ruse. + +“You know the man who wished to kill me, Natacha?” + +“No,” she replied to her father, in accents of perfect fury. “No, I +don’t know any such man.” + +“Mademoiselle,” said Koupriane, in a firm, terribly hostile voice, “you +have yourself, with your own hands, opened that window to-night; and you +have opened it to him many other times besides. While everyone else here +does his duty and watches that no person shall be able to enter at night +the house where sleeps General Trebassof, governor of Moscow, condemned +to death by the Central Revolutionary Committee now reunited at Presnia, +this is what you do; it is you who introduce the enemy into this place.” + +“Answer, Natacha; tell me, yes or no, whether you have let anybody into +this house by night.” + +“Father, it is true.” + +Feodor roared like a lion: + +“His name!” + +“Monsieur will tell you himself,” said Natacha, in a voice thick with +terror, and she pointed to Koupriane. “Why does he not tell you himself +the name of that person? He must know it, if the man is dead.” + +“And if the man is not dead,” replied Feodor, who visibly held onto +himself, “if that man, whom you helped to enter my house this night, has +succeeded in escaping, as you seem to hope, will you tell us his name?” + +“I could not tell it, Father.” + +“And if I prayed you to do so?” + +Natacha desperately shook her head. + +“And if I order you?” + +“You can kill me, Father, but I will not pronounce that name.” + +“Wretch!” + +He raised his stick toward her. Thus Ivan the Terrible had killed his +son with a blow of his boar-spear. + +But Natacha, instead of bowing her head beneath the blow that menaced +her, turned toward Koupriane and threw at him in accents of triumph: + +“He is not dead. If you had succeeded in taking him, dead or alive, you +would already have his name.” + +Koupriane took two steps toward her, put his hand on her shoulder and +said: + +“Michael Nikolaievitch.” + +“Michael Korsakoff!” cried the general. + +Matrena Petrovna, as if revolted by that suggestion, stood upright to +repeat: + +“Michael Korsakoff!” + +The general could not believe his ears, and was about to protest when he +noticed that his daughter had turned away and was trying to flee to her +room. He stopped her with a terrible gesture. + +“Natacha, you are going to tell us what Michael Korsakoff came here to +do to-night.” + +“Feodor Feodorovitch, he came to poison you.” + +It was Matrena who spoke now and whom nothing could have kept silent, +for she saw in Natacha’s attempt at flight the most sinister confession. +Like a vengeful fury she told over with cries and terrible gestures what +she had experienced, as if once more stretched before her the hand +armed with the poison, the mysterious hand above the pillow of her poor +invalid, her dear, rigorous tyrant; she told them about the preceding +night and all her terrors, and from her lips, by her voluble staccato +utterance that ominous recital had grotesque emphasis. Finally she told +all that she had done, she and the little Frenchman, in order not to +betray their suspicions to The Other, in order to take finally in their +own trap all those who for so many days and nights schemed for the death +of Feodor Feodorovitch. As she ended she pointed out Rouletabille to +Feodor and cried, “There is the one who has saved you.” + +Natacha, as she listened to this tragic recital, restrained herself +several times in order not to interrupt, and Rouletabille, who was +watching her closely, saw that she had to use almost superhuman efforts +in order to achieve that. All the horror of what seemed to be to her as +well as to Feodor a revelation of Michael’s crime did not subdue her, +but seemed, on the contrary, to restore to her in full force all the +life that a few seconds earlier had fled from her. Matrena had hardly +finished her cry, “There is the one who has saved you,” before Natacha +cried in her turn, facing the reporter with a look full of the most +frightful hate, “There is the one who has been the death of an innocent +man!” She turned to her father. “Ah, papa, let me, let me say that +Michael Nikolaievitch, who came here this evening, I admit, and whom, it +is true, I let into the house, that Michael Nikolaievitch did not +come here yesterday, and that the man who has tried to poison you is +certainly someone else.” + +At these words Rouletabille turned pale, but he did not let himself lose +self-control. He replied simply: + +“No, mademoiselle, it was the same man.” + +And Koupriane felt compelled to add: + +“Anyway, we have found the proof of Michael Nikolaievitch’s relations +with the revolutionaries.” + +“Where have you found that?” questioned the young girl, turning toward +the Chief of Police a face ravished with anguish. + +“At Krestowsky, mademoiselle.” + +She looked a long time at him as though she would penetrate to the +bottom of his thoughts. + +“What proofs?” she implored. + +“A correspondence which we have placed under seal.” + +“Was it addressed to him? What kind of correspondence?” + +“If it interests you, we will open it before you.” + +“My God! My God!” she gasped. “Where have you found this correspondence? +Where? Tell me where!” + +“I will tell you. At the villa, in his chamber. We forced the lock of +his bureau.” + +She seemed to breathe again, but her father took her brutally by the +arm. + +“Come, Natacha, you are going to tell us what that man was doing here +to-night.” + +“In her chamber!” cried Matrena Petrovna. + +Natacha turned toward Matrena: + +“What do you believe, then? Tell me now.” + +“And I, what ought I to believe?” muttered Feodor. “You have not told +me yet. You did not know that man had relations with my enemies. You are +innocent of that, perhaps. I wish to think so. I wish it, in the name +of Heaven I wish it. But why did you receive him? Why? Why did you bring +him in here, as a robber or as a...” + +“Oh, papa, you know that I love Boris, that I love him with all my +heart, and that I would never belong to anyone but him.” + +“Then, then, then.--speak!” + +The young girl had reached the crisis. + +“Ah, Father, Father, do not question me! You, you above all, do not +question me now. I can say nothing! There is nothing I can tell +you. Excepting that I am sure--sure, you understand--that Michael +Nikolaievitch did not come here last night.” + +“He did come,” insisted Rouletabille in a slightly troubled voice. + +“He came here with poison. He came here to poison your father, Natacha,” + moaned Matrena Petrovna, who twined her hands in gestures of sincere and +naive tragedy. + +“And I,” replied the daughter of Feodor ardently, with an accent +of conviction which made everyone there vibrate, and particularly +Rouletabille, “and I, I tell you it was not he, that it was not he, that +it could not possibly be he. I swear to you it was another, another.” + +“But then, this other, did you let him in as well?” said Koupriane. + +“Ah, yes, yes. It was I. It was I. It was I who left the window and +blinds open. Yes, it is I who did that. But I did not wait for the +other, the other who came to assassinate. As to Michael Nikolaievitch, +I swear to you, my father, by all that is most sacred in heaven and +on earth, that he could not have committed the crime that you say. And +now--kill me, for there is nothing more I can say.” + +“The poison,” replied Koupriane coldly, “the poison that he poured into +the general’s potion was that arsenate of soda which was on the grapes +the Marshal of the Court brought here. Those grapes were left by the +Marshal, who warned Michael Nikolaievitch and Boris Alexandrovitch to +wash them. The grapes disappeared. If Michael is innocent, do you accuse +Boris?” + +Natacha, who seemed to have suddenly lost all power for defending +herself, moaned, begged, railed, seemed dying. + +“No, no. Don’t accuse Boris. He has nothing to do with it. Don’t accuse +Michael. Don’t accuse anyone so long as you don’t know. But these two +are innocent. Believe me. Believe me. Ah, how shall I say it, how shall +I persuade you! I am not able to say anything to you. And you have +killed Michael. Ah, what have you done, what have you done!” + +“We have suppressed a man,” said the icy voice of Koupriane, “who was +merely the agent for the base deeds of Nihilism.” + +She succeeded in recovering a new energy that in her depths of despair +they would have supposed impossible. She shook her fists at Koupriane: + +“It is not true, it is not true. These are slanders, infamies! The +inventions of the police! Papers devised to incriminate him. There +is nothing at all of what you said you found at his house. It is not +possible. It is not true.” + +“Where are those papers?” demanded the curt voice of Feodor. “Bring them +here at once, Koupriane; I wish to see them.” + +Koupriane was slightly troubled, and this did not escape Natacha, who +cried: + +“Yes, yes, let him give us them, let him bring them if he has them. But +he hasn’t,” she clamored with a savage joy. “He has nothing. You can +see, papa, that he has nothing. He would already have brought them out. +He has nothing. I tell you he has nothing. Ah, he has nothing! He has +nothing!” + +And she threw herself on the floor, weeping, sobbing, “He has nothing, +he has nothing!” She seemed to weep for joy. + +“Is that true?” demanded Feodor Feodorovitch, with his most somber +manner. “Is it true, Koupriane, that you have nothing?” + +“It is true, General, that we have found nothing. Everything had already +been carried away.” + +But Natacha uttered a veritable torrent of glee: + +“He has found nothing! Yet he accuses him of being allied with +the revolutionaries. Why? Why? Because I let him in? But I, am I a +revolutionary? Tell me. Have I sworn to kill papa? I? I? Ah, he doesn’t +know what to say. You see for yourself, papa, he is silent. He has lied. +He has lied.” + +“Why have you made this false statement, Koupriane?” + +“Oh, we have suspected Michael for some time, and truly, after what has +just happened, we cannot have any doubt.” + +“Yes, but you declared you had papers, and you have not. That is +abominable procedure, Koupriane,” replied Feodor sternly. “I have heard +you condemn such expedients many times.” + +“General! We are sure, you hear, we are absolutely sure that the man who +tried to poison you yesterday and the man to-day who is dead are one and +the same.” + +“And what reason have you for being so sure? It is necessary to tell +it,” insisted the general, who trembled with distress and impatience. + +“Yes, let him tell now.” + +“Ask monsieur,” said Koupriane. + +They all turned to Rouletabille. + +The reporter replied, affecting a coolness that perhaps he did not +entirely feel: + +“I am able to state to you, as I already have before Monsieur the +Prefect of Police, that one, and only one, person has left the traces of +his various climbings on the wall and on the balcony.” + +“Idiot!” interrupted Natacha, with a passionate disdain for the young +man. “And that satisfies you?” + +The general roughly seized the reporter’s wrist: + +“Listen to me, monsieur. A man came here this night. That concerns only +me. No one has any right to be astonished excepting myself. I make it my +own affair, an affair between my daughter and me. But you, you have just +told us that you are sure that man is an assassin. Then, you see, that +calls for something else. Proofs are necessary, and I want the proofs +at once. You speak of traces; very well, we will go and examine those +traces together. And I wish for your sake, monsieur, that I shall be as +convinced by them as you are.” + +Rouletabille quietly disengaged his wrist and replied with perfect calm: + +“Now, monsieur, I am no longer able to prove anything to you.” + +“Why?” + +“Because the ladders of the police agents have wiped out all my proofs, +monsieur. + +“So now there remains for us only your word, only your belief in +yourself. And if you are mistaken?” + +“He would never admit it, papa,” cried Natacha. “Ah, it is he who +deserves the fate Michael Nikolaievitch has met just now. Isn’t it so? +Don’t you know it? And that will be your eternal remorse! Isn’t there +something that always keeps you from admitting that you are mistaken? +You have had an innocent man killed. Now, you know well enough, you know +well that I would not have admitted Michael Nikolaievitch here if I had +believed he was capable of wishing to poison my father.” + +“Mademoiselle,” replied Rouletabille, not lowering his eyes under +Natacha’s thunderous regard, “I am sure of that.” + +He said it in such a tone that Natacha continued to look at him with +incomprehensible anguish in her eyes. Ah, the baffling of those two +regards, the mute scene between those two young people, one of whom +wished to make himself understood and the other afraid beyond all other +things of being thoroughly understood. Natacha murmured: + +“How he looks at me! See, he is the demon; yes, yes, the little domovoi, +the little domovoi. But look out, poor wretch; you don’t know what you +have done.” + +She turned brusquely toward Koupriane: + +“Where is the body of Michael Nikolaievitch?” said she. “I wish to see +it. I must see it.” + +Feodor Feodorovitch had fallen, as though asleep, upon a chair. Matrena +Petrovna dared not approach him. The giant appeared hurt to the death, +disheartened forever. What neither bombs, nor bullets, nor poison had +been able to do, the single idea of his daughter’s co-operation in the +work of horror plotted about him--or rather the impossibility he faced +of understanding Natacha’s attitude, her mysterious conduct, the +chaos of her explanations, her insensate cries, her protestations +of innocence, her accusations, her menaces, her prayers and all +her disorder, the avowed fact of her share in that tragic nocturnal +adventure where Michael Nikolaievitch found his death, had knocked over +Feodor Feodorovitch like a straw. One instant he sought refuge in some +vague hope that Koupriane was less assured than he pretended of the +orderly’s guilt. But that, after all, was only a detail of no importance +in his eyes. What alone mattered was the significance of Natacha’s act, +and the unhappy girl seemed not to be concerned over what he would +think of it. She was there to fight against Koupriane, Rouletabille and +Matrena Petrovna, defending her Michael Nikolaievitch, while he, the +father, after having failed to overawe her just now, was there in a +corner suffering agonizedly. + +Koupriane walked over to him and said: + +“Listen to me carefully, Feodor Feodorovitch. He who speaks to you is +Head of the Police by the will of the Tsar, and your friend by the grace +of God. If you do not demand before us, who are acquainted with all that +has happened and who know how to keep any necessary secret, if you do +not demand of your daughter the reason for her conduct with Michael +Nikolaievitch, and if she does not tell you in all sincerity, there is +nothing more for me to do here. My men have already been ordered away +from this house as unworthy to guard the most loyal subject of His +Majesty; I have not protested, but now I in my turn ask you to prove to +me that the most dangerous enemy you have had in your house is not your +daughter.” + +These words, which summed up the horrible situation, came as a relief +for Feodor. Yes, they must know. Koupriane was right. She must speak. He +ordered his daughter to tell everything, everything. + +Natacha fixed Koupriane again with her look of hatred to the death, +turned from him and repeated in a firm voice: + +“I have nothing to say.” + +“There is the accomplice of your assassins,” growled Koupriane then, his +arm extended. + +Natacha uttered a cry like a wounded beast and fell at her father’s +feet. She gathered them within her supplicating arms. She pressed them +to her breasts. She sobbed from the bottom of her heart. And he, not +comprehending, let her lie there, distant, hostile, somber. Then she +moaned, distractedly, and wept bitterly, and the dramatic atmosphere in +which she thus suddenly enveloped Feodor made it all sound like those +cries of an earlier time when the all-powerful, punishing father +appeared in the women’s apartments to punish the culpable ones. + +“My father! Dear Father! Look at me! Look at me! Have pity on me, and do +not require me to speak when I must be silent forever. And believe me! +Do not believe these men! Do not believe Matrena Petrovna. And am I not +your daughter? Your very own daughter! Your Natacha Feodorovna! I cannot +make things dear to you. No, no, by the Holy Virgin Mother of Jesus +I cannot explain. By the holy ikons, it is because I must not. By my +mother, whom I have not known and whose place you have taken, oh, my +father, ask me nothing more! Ask me nothing more! But take me in your +arms as you did when I was little; embrace me, dear father; love me. +I never have had such need to be loved. Love me! I am miserable. +Unfortunate me, who cannot even kill myself before your eyes to prove +my innocence and my love. Papa, Papa! What will your arms be for in the +days left you to live, if you no longer wish to press me to your heart? +Papa! Papa!” + +She laid her head on Feodor’s knees. Her hair had come down and hung +about her in a magnificent disorderly mass of black. + +“Look in my eyes! Look in my eyes! See how they love you, Batouchka! +Batouchka! My dear Batouchka!” + +Then Feodor wept. His great tears fell upon Natacha’s tears. He raised +her head and demanded simply in a broken voice: + +“You can tell me nothing now? But when will you tell me?” + +Natacha lifted her eyes to his, then her look went past him toward +heaven, and from her lips came just one word, in a sob: + +“Never.” + +Matrena Petrovna, Koupriane and the reporter shuddered before the high +and terrible thing that happened then. Feodor had taken his daughter’s +face between his hands. He looked long at those eyes raised toward +heaven, the mouth which had just uttered the word “Never,” then, slowly, +his rude lips went to the tortured, quivering lips of the girl. He held +her close. She raised her head wildly, triumphantly, and cried, with arm +extended toward Matrena Petrovna: + +“He believes me! He believes me! And you would have believed me also if +you had been my real mother.” + +Her head fell back and she dropped unconscious to the floor. Feodor fell +to his knees, tending her, deploring her, motioning the others out of +the room. + +“Go away! All of you, go! All! You, too, Matrena Petrovna. Go away!” + +They disappeared, terrified by his savage gesture. + +In the little datcha across the river at Krestowsky there was a body. +Secret Service agents guarded it while they waited for their chief. +Michael Nikolaievitch had come there to die, and the police had +reached him just at his last breath. They were behind him as, with the +death-rattle in his throat, he pulled himself into his chamber and fell +in a heap. Katharina the Bohemian was there. She bent her quick-witted, +puzzled head over his death agony. The police swarmed everywhere, +ransacking, forcing locks, pulling drawers from the bureau and tables, +emptying the cupboards. Their search took in everything, even to ripping +the mattresses, and not respecting the rooms of Boris Mourazoff, who +was away this night. They searched thoroughly, but they found absolutely +nothing they were looking for in Michael’s rooms. But they accumulated a +multitude of publications that belonged to Boris: Western books, essays +on political economy, a history of the French Revolution, and verses +that a man ought to hang for. They put them all under seal. During the +search Michael died in Katharina’s arms. She had held him close, after +opening his clothes over the chest, doubtless to make his last breaths +easier. The unfortunate officer had received a bullet at the back of +the head just after he had plunged into the Neva from the rear of the +Trebassof datcha and started to swim across. It was a miracle that he +had managed to keep going. Doubtless he hoped to die in peace if only +he could reach his own house. He apparently had believed he could manage +that once he had broken through his human bloodhounds. He did not know +he was recognized and his place of retreat therefore known. + +Now the police had gone from cellar to garret. Koupriane came from the +Trebassof villa and joined them, Rouletabille followed him. The reporter +could not stand the sight of that body, that still had a lingering +warmth, of the great open eyes that seemed to stare at him, reproaching +him for this violent death. He turned away in distaste, and perhaps a +little in fright. Koupriane caught the movement. + +“Regrets?” he queried. + +“Yes,” said Rouletabille. “A death always must be regretted. None the +less, he was a criminal. But I’m sincerely sorry he died before he had +been driven to confess, even though we are sure of it.” + +“Being in the pay of the Nihilists, you mean? That is still your +opinion?” asked Koupriane. + +“Yes.” + +“You know that nothing has been found here in his rooms. The only +compromising papers that have been found belong to Boris Mourazoff.” + +“Why do you say that?” + +“Oh--nothing.” + +Koupriane questioned his men further. They replied categorically. No, +nothing had been found that directly incriminated anybody; and suddenly +Rouletabille noted that the conversation of the police and their chief +had grown more animated. Koupriane had become angry and was violently +reproaching them. They excused themselves with vivid gesture and rapid +speech. + +Koupriane started away. Rouletabille followed him. What had happened? + +As he came up behind Koupriane, he asked the question. In a few curt +words, still hurrying on, Koupriane told the reporter he had just +learned that the police had left the little Bohemian Katharina alone for +a moment with the expiring officer. Katharina acted as housekeeper for +Michael and Boris. She knew the secrets of them both. The first thing +any novice should have known was to keep a constant eye upon her, and +now no one knew where she was. She must be searched for and found at +once, for she had opened Michael’s shirt, and therein probably lay the +reason that no papers were found on the corpse when the police searched +it. The absence of papers, of a portfolio, was not natural. + +The chase commenced in the rosy dawn of the isles. Already blood-like +tints were on the horizon. Some of the police cried that they had the +trail. They ran under the trees, because it was almost certain she had +taken the narrow path leading to the bridge that joins Krestowsky to +Kameny-Ostrow. Some indications discovered by the police who swarmed to +right and left of the path confirmed this hypothesis. And no carriage in +sight! They all ran on, Koupriane among the first. Rouletabille kept at +his heels, but he did not pass him. Suddenly there were cries and calls +among the police. One pointed out something below gliding upon the +sloping descent. It was little Katharina. She flew like the wind, but +in a distracted course. She had reached Kameny-Ostrow on the west bank. +“Oh, for a carriage, a horse!” clamored Koupriane, who had left his +turn-out at Eliaguine. “The proof is there. It is the final proof of +everything that is escaping us!” + +Dawn was enough advanced now to show the ground clearly. Katharina was +easily discernible as she reached the Eliaguine bridge. There she was +in Eliaguine-Ostrow. What was she doing there? Was she going to the +Trebassof villa? What would she have to say to them? No, she swerved +to the right. The police raced behind her. She was still far ahead, and +seemed untiring. Then she disappeared among the trees, in the thicket, +keeping still to the right. Koupriane gave a cry of joy. Going that way +she must be taken. He gave some breathless orders for the island to be +barred. She could not escape now! She could not escape! But where was +she going? Koupriane knew that island better than anybody. He took a +short cut to reach the other side, toward which Katharina seemed to be +heading, and all at once he nearly fell over the girl, who gave a squawk +of surprise and rushed away, seeming all arms and legs. + +“Stop, or I fire!” cried Koupriane, and he drew his revolver. But a hand +grabbed it from him. + +“Not that!” said Rouletabille, as he threw the revolver far from them. +Koupriane swore at him and resumed the chase. His fury multiplied his +strength, his agility; he almost reached Katharina, who was almost out +of breath, but Rouletabille threw himself into the Chief’s arms and +they rolled together upon the grass. When Koupriane rose, it was to see +Katharina mounting in mad haste the stairs that led to the Barque, the +floating restaurant of the Strielka. Cursing Rouletabille, but believing +his prey easily captured now, the Chief in his turn hurried to the +Barque, into which Katharina had disappeared. He reached the bottom of +the stairs. On the top step, about to descend from the festive place, +the form of Prince Galitch appeared. Koupriane received the sight like a +blow stopping him short in his ascent. Galitch had an exultant air which +Koupriane did not mistake. Evidently he had arrived too late. He felt +the certainty of it in profound discouragement. And this appearance of +the prince on the Barque explained convincingly enough the reason for +Katharina’s flight here. + +If the Bohemian had filched the papers or the portfolio from the dead, +it was the prince now who had them in his pocket. + +Koupriane, as he saw the prince about to pass him, trembled. The prince +saluted him and ironically amused himself by inquiring: + +“Well, well, how do you do, my dear Monsieur Koupriane. Your Excellency +has risen in good time this morning, it seems to me. Or else it is I who +start for bed too late.” + +“Prince,” said Koupriane, “my men are in pursuit of a little Bohemian +named Katharina, well known in the restaurants where she sings. We have +seen her go into the Barque. Have you met her by any chance?” + +“Good Lord, Monsieur Koupriane, I am not the concierge of the Barque, +and I have not noticed anything at all, and nobody. Besides, I am +naturally a little sleepy. Pardon me.” + +“Prince, it is not possible that you have not seen Katharina.” + +“Oh, Monsieur the Prefect of Police, if I had seen her I would not tell +you about it, since you are pursuing her. Do you take me for one of your +bloodhounds? They say you have them in all classes, but I insist that I +haven’t enlisted yet. You have made a mistake, Monsieur Koupriane.” + +The prince saluted again. But Koupriane still stood in his way. + +“Prince, consider that this matter is very serious. Michael +Nikolaievitch, General Trebassof’s orderly, is dead, and this little +girl has stolen his papers from his body. All persons who have spoken +with Katharina will be under suspicion. This is an affair of State, +monsieur, which may reach very far. Can you swear to me that you have +not seen, that you have not spoken to Katharina?” + +The prince looked at Koupriane so insolently that the Prefect turned +pale with rage. Ah, if he were able--if he only dared!--but such men as +this were beyond him. Galitch walked past him without a word of answer, +and ordered the schwitzar to call him a carriage. + +“Very well,” said Koupriane, “I will make my report to the Tsar.” + +Galitch turned. He was as pale as Koupriane. + +“In that case, monsieur,” said he, “don’t forget to add that I am His +Majesty’s most humble servant.” + +The carriage drew up. The prince stepped in. Koupriane watched him roll +away, raging at heart and with his fists doubled. Just then his men came +up. + +“Go. Search,” he said roughly, pointing into the Barque. + +They scattered through the establishment, entering all the rooms. Cries +of irritation and of protest arose. Those lingering after the latest of +late suppers were not pleased at this invasion of the police. Everybody +had to rise while the police looked under the tables, the benches, the +long table-cloths. They went into the pantries and down into the hold. +No sign of Katharina. Suddenly Koupriane, who leaned against a netting +and looked vaguely out upon the horizon, waiting for the outcome of the +search, got a start. Yonder, far away on the other side of the river, +between a little wood and the Staria Derevnia, a light boat drew to the +shore, and a little black spot jumped from it like a flea. Koupriane +recognized the little black spot as Katharina. She was safe. Now he could +not reach her. It would be useless to search the maze of the Bohemian +quarter, where her country-people lived in full control, with customs +and privileges that had never been infringed. The entire Bohemian +population of the capital would have risen against him. It was Prince +Galitch who had made him fail. One of his men came to him: + +“No luck,” said he. “We have not found Katharina, but she has been here +nevertheless. She met Prince Galitch for just a minute, and gave him +something, then went over the other side into a canoe.” + +“Very well,” and the Prefect shrugged his shoulders. “I was sure of it.” + +He felt more and more, exasperated. He went down along the river edge +and the first person he saw was Rouletabille, who waited for him without +any impatience, seated philosophically on a bench. + +“I was looking for you,” cried the Prefect. “We have failed. By your +fault! If you had not thrown yourself into my arms--” + +“I did it on purpose,” declared the reporter. + +“What! What is that you say? You did it on purpose?” + +Koupriane choked with rage. + +“Your Excellency,” said Rouletabille, taking him by the arm, “calm +yourself. They are watching us. Come along and have a cup of tea at +Cubat’s place. Easy now, as though we were out for a walk.” + +“Will you explain to me?” + +“No, no, Your Excellency. Remember that I have promised you General +Trebassof’s life in exchange for your prisoner’s. Very well; by throwing +myself in your arms and keeping you from reaching Katharina, I saved the +general’s life. It is very simple.” + +“Are you laughing at me? Do you think you can mock me?” + +But the prefect saw quickly that Rouletabille was not fooling and had no +mockery in his manner. + +“Monsieur,” he insisted, “since you speak seriously, I certainly wish to +understand--” + +“It is useless,” said Rouletabille. “It is very necessary that you +should not understand.” + +“But at least...” + +“No, no, I can’t tell you anything.” + +“When, then, will you tell me something to explain your unbelievable +conduct?” + +Rouletabille stopped in his tracks and declared solemnly: + +“Monsieur Koupriane, recall what Natacha Feodorovna as she raised her +lovely eyes to heaven, replied to her father, when he, also, wished to +understand: ‘Never.’” + + + + + +XI. THE POISON CONTINUES + +At ten o’clock that morning Rouletabille went to the Trebassof villa, +which had its guard of secret agents again, a double guard, because +Koupriane was sure the Nihilists would not delay in avenging Michael’s +death. Rouletabille was met by Ermolai, who would not allow him to +enter. The faithful servant uttered some explanation in Russian, which +the young man did not understand, or, rather, Rouletabille understood +perfectly from his manner that henceforth the door of the villa was +closed to him. In vain he insisted on seeing the general, Matrena +Petrovna and Mademoiselle Natacha. Ermolai made no reply but “Niet, +niet, niet.” The reporter turned away without having seen anyone, and +walked away deeply depressed. He went afoot clear into the city, a long +promenade, during which his brain surged with the darkest forebodings. +As he passed by the Department of Police he resolved to see Koupriane +again. He went in, gave his name, and was ushered at once to the Chief +of Police, whom he found bent over a long report that he was reading +through with noticeable agitation. + +“Gounsovski has sent me this,” he said in a rough voice, pointing to the +report. “Gounsovski, ‘to do me a service,’ desires me to know that he is +fully aware of all that happened at the Trebassof datcha last night. He +warns me that the revolutionaries have decided to get through with the +general at once, and that two of them have been given the mission to +enter the datcha in any way possible. They will have bombs upon their +bodies and will blow the bombs and themselves up together as soon as +they are beside the general. Who are the two victims designated for this +horrible vengeance, and who have light-heartedly accepted such a death +for themselves as well as for the general? That is what we don’t know. +That is what we would have known, perhaps, if you had not prevented +me from seizing the papers that Prince Galitch has now,” Koupriane +finished, turning hostilely toward Rouletabille. + +Rouletabille had turned pale. + +“Don’t regret what happened to the papers,” he said. “It is I who tell +you not to. But what you say doesn’t surprise me. They must believe that +Natacha has betrayed them.” + +“Ah, then you admit at last that she really is their accomplice?” + +“I haven’t said that and I don’t admit it. But I know what I mean, and +you, you can’t. Only, know this one thing, that at the present moment +I am the only person able to save you in this horrible situation. To do +that I must see Natacha at once. Make her understand this, while I wait +at my hotel for word. I’ll not leave it.” + +Rouletabille saluted Koupriane and went out. + +Two days passed, during which Rouletabille did not receive any word from +either Natacha or Koupriane, and tried in vain to see them. He made a +trip for a few hours to Finland, going as far as Pergalovo, an isolated +town said to be frequented by the revolutionaries, then returned, much +disturbed, to his hotel, after having written a last letter to Natacha +imploring an interview. The minutes passed very slowly for him in the +hotel’s vestibule, where he had seemed to have taken up a definite +residence. + +Installed on a bench, he seemed to have become part of the hotel staff, +and more than one traveler took him for an interpreter. Others thought +he was an agent of the Secret Police appointed to study the faces of +those arriving and departing. What was he waiting for, then? Was it +for Annouchka to return for a luncheon or dinner in that place that +she sometimes frequented? And did he at the same time keep watch upon +Annouchka’s apartments just across the way? If that was so, he could +only bewail his luck, for Annouchka did not appear either at her +apartments or the hotel, or at the Krestowsky establishment, which +had been obliged to suppress her performance. Rouletabille naturally +thought, in the latter connection, that some vengeance by Gounsovski lay +back of this, since the head of the Secret Service could hardly forget +the way he had been treated. The reporter 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 which has closed to you for a number of days a dwelling where you +have rendered services which I shall not forget all my life.” + +The letter ended with a vague polite formula. With the letter in his +hand the reporter sat in thought. He seemed to be asking himself, “Is it +fish or flesh?” Was it a letter of thanks or of menace? That was what he +could not decide. Well, he would soon know, for he had decided to +accept that invitation. Anything that brought him and Natacha into +communication at the moment was a thing of capital importance to him. +Half-an-hour later he gave the address of the villa to an isvotchick, +and soon he stepped out before the gate where Ermolai seemed to be +waiting for him. + +Rouletabille was so occupied by thought of the conversation he was going +to have with Natacha that he had completely forgotten the excellent +Monsieur Gounsovski and his invitation. + +The reporter found Koupriane’s agents making a close-linked chain around +the grounds and each watching the other. Matrena had not wished any +agent to be in house. He showed Koupriane’s pass and entered. + +Ermolai ushered Rouletabille in with shining face. He seemed glad +to have him there again. He bowed low before him and uttered many +compliments, of which the reporter did not understand a word. +Rouletabille passed on, entered the garden and saw Matrena Petrovna there +walking with her step-daughter. They seemed on the best of terms with +each other. The grounds wore an air of tranquillity and the residents +seemed to have totally forgotten the somber tragedy of the other night. +Matrena and Natacha came smilingly up to the young man, who inquired +after the general. They both turned and pointed out Feodor Feodorovitch, +who waved to him from the height of the kiosk, where it seemed the table +had been spread. They were going to dine out of doors this fine night. + +“Everything goes very well, very well indeed, dear little domovoi,” said +Matrena. “How glad it is to see you and thank you. If you only knew how +I suffered in your absence, I who know how unjust my daughter was to +you. But dear Natacha knows now what she owes you. She doesn’t doubt +your word now, nor your clear intelligence, little angel. Michael +Nikolaievitch was a monster and he was punished as he deserved. You know +the police have proof now that he was one of the Central Revolutionary +Committee’s most dangerous agents. And he an officer! Whom can we trust +now!” + +“And Monsieur Boris Mourazoff, have you seen him since?” inquired +Rouletabille. + +“Boris called to see us to-day, to say good-by, but we did not receive +him, under the orders of the police. Natacha has written to tell him of +Koupriane’s orders. We have received letters from him; he is quitting +St. Petersburg. + +“What for?” + +“Well, after the frightful bloody scene in his little house, when he +learned how Michael Nikolaievitch had found his death, and after he +himself had undergone a severe grilling from the police, and when he +learned the police had sacked his library and gone through his papers, +he resigned, and has resolved to live from now on out in the country, +without seeing anyone, like the philosopher and poet he is. So far as I +am concerned, I think he is doing absolutely right. When a young man is +a poet, it is useless to live like a soldier. Someone has said that, +I don’t know the name now, and when one has ideas that may upset other +people, surely they ought to live in solitude.” + +Rouletabille looked at Natacha, who was as pale as her white gown, and +who added no word to her mother’s outburst. They had drawn near the +kiosk. Rouletabille saluted the general, who called to him to come up +and, when the young man extended his hand, he drew him abruptly nearer +and embraced him. To show Rouletabille how active he was getting again, +Feodor Feodorovitch marched up and down the kiosk with only the aid of a +stick. He went and came with a sort of wild, furious gayety. + +“They haven’t got me yet, the dogs. They haven’t got me! And one (he was +thinking of Michael) who saw me every day was here just for that. Very +well. I ask you where he is now. And yet here I am! An attack! I’m +always here! But with a good eye; and I begin to have a good leg. We +shall see. Why, I recollect how, when I was at Tiflis, there was an +insurrection in the Caucasus. We fought. Several times I could feel the +swish of bullets past my hair. My comrades fell around me like flies. +But nothing happened to me, not a thing. And here now! They will not get +me, they will not get me. You know how they plan now to come to me, as +living bombs. Yes, they have decided on that. I can’t press a friend’s +hand any more without the fear of seeing him explode. What do you think +of that? But they won’t get me. Come, drink my health. A small glass +of vodka for an appetizer. You see, young man, we are going to have +zakouskis here. What a marvelous panorama! You can see everything from +here. If the enemy comes,” he added with a singular loud laugh, “we +can’t fail to detect him.” + +Certainly the kiosk did rise high above the garden and was completely +detached, no wall being near. They had a clear view. No branches of +trees hung over the roof and no tree hid the view. The rustic table of +rough wood was covered with a short cloth and was spread with zakouskis. +It was a meal under the open sky, a seat and a glass in the clear azure. +The evening could not have been softer and clearer. And, as the general +felt so gay, the repast would have promised to be most agreeable, if +Rouletabille had not noticed that Matrena Petrovna and Natacha were +uneasy and downcast. The reporter soon saw, too, that all the general’s +joviality was a little excessive. Anyone would have said that Feodor +Feodorovitch spoke to distract himself, to keep himself from thinking. +There was sufficient excuse for him after the outrageous drama of the +other night. Rouletabille noticed further that the general never looked +at his daughter, even when he spoke to her. There was too formidable +a mystery lying between them for restraint not to increase day by day. +Rouletabille involuntarily shook his head, saddened by all he saw. His +movement was surprised by Matrena Petrovna, who pressed his hand in +silence. + +“Well, now,” said the general, “well, now my children, where is the +vodka?” + +Among all the bottles which graced the table the general looked in vain +for his flask of vodka. How in the world could he dine if he did not +prepare for that important act by the rapid absorption of two or +three little glasses of white wine, between two or three sandwiches of +caviare! + +“Ermolai must have left it in the wine-chest,” said Matrena. + +The wine-closet was in the dining-room. She rose to go there, but +Natacha hurried before her down the little flight of steps, crying, +“Stay there, mamma. I will go.” + +“Don’t you bother, either. I know where it is,” cried Rouletabille, and +hurried after Natacha. + +She did not stop. The two young people arrived in the dining-room at +the same time. They were there alone, as Rouletabille had foreseen. He +stopped Natacha and planted himself in front of her. + +“Why, mademoiselle, did you not answer me earlier?” + +“Because I don’t wish to have any conversation with you.” + +“If that was so, you would not have come here, where you were sure I +would follow.” + +She hesitated, with an emotion that would have been incomprehensible to +all others perhaps, but was not to Rouletabille. + +“Well, yes, I wished to say this to you: Don’t write to me any more. +Don’t speak to me. Don’t see me. Go away from here, monsieur; go away. +They will have your life. And if you have found out anything, forget it. +Ah, on the head of your mother, forget it, or you are lost. That is what +I wished to tell you. And now, you go.” + +She grasped his hand in a quick sympathetic movement that she seemed +instantly to regret. + +“You go away,” she repeated. + +Rouletabille still held his place before her. She turned from him; she +did not wish to hear anything further. + +“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you are watched closer than ever. Who will +take Michael Nikolaievitch’s place?” + +“Madman, be silent! Hush!” + +“I am here.” + +He said this with such simple bravery that tears sprang to her eyes. + +“Dear man! Poor man! Dear brave man!” She did not know what to say. Her +emotion checked all utterance. But it was necessary for her to enable +him to understand that there was nothing he could do to help her in her +sad straits. + +“No. If they knew what you have just said, what you have proposed now, +you would be dead to-morrow. Don’t let them suspect. And above all, +don’t try to see me anywhere. Go back to papa at once. We have been here +too long. What if they learn of it?--and they learn everything! They are +everywhere, and have ears everywhere.” + +“Mademoiselle, just one word more, a single word. Do you doubt now that +Michael tried to poison your father?” + +“Ah, I wish to believe it. I wish to. I wish to believe it for your +sake, my poor boy.” + +Rouletabille desired something besides “I wish to believe it for your +sake, my poor boy.” He was far from being satisfied. She saw him turn +pale. She tried to reassure him while her trembling hands raised the lid +of the wine-chest. + +“What makes me think you are right is that I have decided myself that +only one and the same person, as you said, climbed to the window of the +little balcony. Yes, no one can doubt that, and you have reasoned well.” + +But he persisted still. + +“And yet, in spite of that, you are not entirely sure, since you say, ‘I +wish to believe it, my poor boy.’” + +“Monsieur Rouletabille, someone might have tried to poison my father, +and not have come by way of the window.” + +“No, that is impossible.” + +“Nothing is impossible to them.” + +And she turned her head away again. + +“Why, why,” she said, with her voice entirely changed and quite +indifferent, as if she wished to be merely ‘the daughter of the house’ +in conversation with the young man, “the vodka is not in the wine chest, +after all. What has Ermolai done with it, then?” + +She ran over to the buffet and found the flask. + +“Oh, here it is. Papa shan’t be without it, after all.” + +Rouletabille was already into the garden again. + +“If that is the only doubt she has,” he said to himself, “I can reassure +her. No one could come, excepting by the window. And only one came that +way.” + +The young girl had rejoined him, bringing the flask. They crossed the +garden together to the general, who was whiling away the time as he +waited for his vodka explaining to Matrena Petrovna the nature of “the +constitution.” He had spilt a box of matches on the table and arranged +them carefully. + +“Here,” he cried to Natacha and Rouletabille. “Come here and I will +explain to you as well what this Constitution amounts to.” + +The young people leaned over his demonstration curiously and all eyes in +the kiosk were intent on the matches. + +“You see that match,” said Feodor Feodorovitch. “It is the Emperor. And +this other match is the Empress; this one is the Tsarevitch; and that +one is the Grand-duke Alexander; and these are the other granddukes. +Now, here are the ministers and there the principal governors, and then +the generals; these here are the bishops.” + +The whole box of matches was used up, and each match was in its place, +as is the way in an empire where proper etiquette prevails in government +and the social order. + +“Well,” continued the general, “do you want to know, Matrena Petrovna, +what a constitution is? There! That is the Constitution.” + +The general, with a swoop of his hand, mixed all the matches. +Rouletabille laughed, but the good Matrena said: + +“I don’t understand, Feodor.” + +“Find the Emperor now.” + +Then Matrena understood. She laughed heartily, she laughed violently, +and Natacha laughed also. Delighted with his success, Feodor +Feodorovitch took up one of the little glasses that Natacha had filled +with the vodka she brought. + +“Listen, my children,” said he. “We are going to commence the zakouskis. +Koupriane ought to have been here before this.” + +Saying this, holding still the little glass in his hand, he felt in his +pocket with the other for his watch, and drew out a magnificent large +watch whose ticking was easily heard. + +“Ah, the watch has come back from the repairer,” Rouletabille remarked +smilingly to Matrena Petrovna. “It looks like a splendid one.” + +“It has very fine works,” said the general. “It was bequeathed to me by +my grandfather. It marks the seconds, and the phases of the moon, and +sounds the hours and half-hours.” + +Rouletabille bent over the watch, admiring it. + +“You expect M. Koupriane for dinner?” inquired the young man, still +examining the watch. + +“Yes, but since he is so late, we’ll not delay any longer. Your healths, +my children,” said the general as Rouletabille handed him back the watch +and he put it in his pocket. + +“Your health, Feodor Feodorovitch,” replied Matrena Petrovna, with her +usual tenderness. + +Rouletabille and Natacha only touched their lips to the vodka, but +Feodor Feodorovitch and Matrena drank theirs in the Russian fashion, +head back and all at a draught, draining it to the bottom and flinging +the contents to the back of the throat. They had no more than performed +this gesture when the general uttered an oath and tried to expel what he +had drained so heartily. Matrena Petrovna spat violently also, looking +with horror at her husband. + +“What is it? What has someone put in the vodka?” cried Feodor. + +“What has someone put in the vodka?” repeated Matrena Petrovna in a +thick voice, her eyes almost starting from her head. + +The two young people threw themselves upon the unfortunates. Feodor’s +face had an expression of atrocious suffering. + +“We are poisoned,” cried the general, in the midst of his chokings. “I +am burning inside.” + +Almost mad, Natacha took her father’s head in her hands. She cried to +him: + +“Vomit, papa; vomit!” + +“We must find an emetic,” cried Rouletabille, holding on to the general, +who had almost slipped from his arms. + +Matrena Petrovna, whose gagging noises were violent, hurried down the +steps of the kiosk, crossed the garden as though wild-fire were +behind her, and bounded into the veranda. During this time the general +succeeded in easing himself, thanks to Rouletabille, who had thrust a +spoon to the root of his tongue. Natacha could do nothing but cry, “My +God, my God, my God!” Feodor held onto his stomach, still crying, “I’m +burning, I’m burning!” The scene was frightfully tragic and funny at the +same time. To add to the burlesque, the general’s watch in his pocket +struck eight o’clock. Feodor Feodorovitch stood up in a final supreme +effort. “Oh, it is horrible!” Matrena Petrovna showed a red, almost +violet face as she came back; she distorted it, she choked, her mouth +twitched, but she brought something, a little packet that she waved, and +from which, trembling frightenedly, she shook a powder into the first +two empty glasses, which were on her side of the table and were those +she and the general had drained. She still had strength to fill them +with water, while Rouletabille was almost overcome by the general, whom +he still had in his arms, and Natacha concerned herself with nothing +but her father, leaning over him as though to follow the progress of +the terrible poison, to read in his eyes if it was to be life or death. +“Ipecac,” cried Matrena Petrovna, and she made the general drink it. +She did not drink until after him. The heroic woman must have exerted +superhuman force to go herself to find the saving antidote in her +medicine-chest, even while the agony pervaded her vitals. + +Some minutes later both could be considered saved. The servants, Ermolai +at their head, were clustered about. Most of them had been at the lodge +and they had not, it appeared, heard the beginning of the affair, the +cries of Natacha and Rouletabille. Koupriane arrived just then. It was +he who worked with Natacha in getting the two to bed. Then he directed +one of his agents to go for the nearest doctors they could find. + +This done, the Prefect of Police went toward the kiosk where he had left +Rouletabille. But Rouletabille was not to be found, and the flask of +vodka and the glasses from which they had drunk were gone also. Ermolai +was near-by, and he inquired of the servant for the young Frenchman. +Ermolai replied that he had just gone away, carrying the flask and the +glasses. Koupriane swore. He shook Ermolai and even started to give him +a blow with the fist for permitting such a thing to happen before his +eyes without making a protest. + +Ermolai, who had his own haughtiness, dodged Koupriane’s fist and +replied that he had wished to prevent the young Frenchman, but the +reporter had shown him a police-paper on which Koupriane himself had +declared in advance that the young Frenchman was to do anything he +pleased. + + + + + +XII. PERE ALEXIS + +Koupriane jumped into his carriage and hurried toward St. Petersburg. +On the way he spoke to three agents who only he knew were posted in +the neighborhood of Eliaguine. They told him the route Rouletabille had +taken. The reporter had certainly returned into the city. He hurried +toward Troitski Bridge. There, at the corner of the Naberjnaia, +Koupriane saw the reporter in a hired conveyance. Rouletabille was +pounding his coachman in the back, Russian fashion, to make him go +faster, and was calling with all his strength one of the few words he +had had time to learn, “Naleva, naleva” (to the left). The driver was +forced to understand at last, for there was no other way to turn than to +the left. If he had turned to the right (naprava) he would have driven +into the river. The conveyance clattered over the pointed flints of a +neighborhood that led to a little street, Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, at +the corner of the Katharine canal. This “alley of the pharmacists” as a +matter of fact contained no pharmacists, but there was a curious sign +of a herbarium, where Rouletabille made the driver stop. As the carriage +rolled under the arch Rouletabille recognized Koupriane. He did not +wait, but cried to him, “Ah, here you are. All right; follow me.” He +still had the flask and the glasses in his hands. Koupriane couldn’t +help noticing how strange he looked. He passed through a court with him, +and into a squalid shop. + +“What,” said Koupriane, “do you know Pere Alexis?” + +They were in the midst of a curious litter. Clusters of dried herbs hung +from the ceiling, and all among them were clumps of old boots, shriveled +skins, battered pans, scrap-iron, sheep-skins, useless touloupes, and on +the floor musty old clothes, moth-eaten furs, and sheep-skin coats that +even a moujik of the swamps would not have deigned to wear. Here and +there were old teeth, ragged finery, dilapidated hats, and jars of +strange herbs ranged upon some rickety shelving. Between the set of +scales on the counter and a heap of little blocks of wood used for +figuring the accounts of this singular business were ungilded ikons, +oxidized silver crosses, and Byzantine pictures representing scenes from +the Old and New Testaments. Jars of alcohol with what seemed to be the +skeletons of frogs swimming in them filled what space was left. In a +corner of this large, murky room, under the vault of mossed stone, a +small altar stood and the light burned in a hanging glass of oil before +the holy images. A man was praying before the altar. He wore the costume +of old Russia, the caftan of green cloth, buttoned at the shoulder and +tucked in at the waist by a narrow belt. He had a bushy beard and his +hair fell to his shoulders. When he had finished his prayer he rose, +perceived Rouletabille and came over to take his hand. He spoke French +to the reporter: + +“Well, here you are again, lad. Do you bring poison again to-day? This +will end by being found out, and the police...” + +Just then he discerned Koupriane’s form in the shadow, drew close +to make out who it was, and fell to his knees as he saw who it was. +Rouletabille tried to raise him, but he insisted on prostrating himself. +He was sure the Prefect of Police had come to his house to hang him. +Finally he was reassured by Rouletabille’s positive assertions and the +great chief’s robust laugh. The Prefect wished to know how the young man +came to be acquainted with the “alchemist” of the police. Rouletabille +told him in a few words. + +Maitre Alexis, in his youth, went to France afoot, to study pharmacy, +because of his enthusiasm for chemistry. But he always remained +countrified, very much a Russian peasant, a semi-Oriental bear, and did +not achieve his degree. He took some certificates, but the examinations +were too much for him. For fifty years he lived miserably as a +pharmacist’s assistant in the back of a disreputable shop in the Notre +Dame quarter. The proprietor of the place was implicated in the famous +affair of the gold ingots, which started Rouletabille’s reputation, and +was arrested along with his assistant, Alexis. It was Rouletabille who +proved, clear as day, that poor Alexis was innocent, and that he had +never been cognizant of his master’s evil ways, being absorbed in the +depths of his laboratory in trying to work out a naive alchemy which +fascinated him, though the world of chemistry had passed it by centuries +ago. At the trial Alexis was acquitted, but found himself in the street. +He shed what tears remained in his body upon the neck of the reporter, +assuring him of paradise if he got him back to his own country, because +he desired only the one thing more of life, that he might see his +birth-land before he died. Rouletabille advanced the necessary means +and sent him to St. Petersburg. There he was picked up at the end of two +days by the police, in a petty gambling-game, and thrown into prison, +where he promptly had a chance to show his talents. He cured some of his +companions in misery, and even some of the guards. A guard who had an +injured leg, whose healing he had despaired of, was cured by Alexis. +Then there was found to be no actual charge against him. They set him +free and, moreover, they interested themselves in him. They found meager +employment for him in the Stchoukine-dvor, an immense popular bazaar. +He accumulated a few roubles and installed himself on his own account +at the back of a court in the Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, where he gradually +piled up a heap of old odds and ends that no one wanted even in the +Stchoukine-dvor. But he was happy, because behind his shop he had +installed a little laboratory where he continued for his pleasure his +experiments in alchemy and his study of plants. He still proposed to +write a book that he had already spoken of in France to Rouletabille, to +prove the truth of “Empiric Treatment of Medicinal Herbs, the Science +of Alchemy, and the Ancient Experiments in Sorcery.” Between times +he continued to cure anyone who applied to him, and the police in +particular. The police guards protected him and used him. He had +splendid plasters for them after “the scandal,” as they called the +October riots. So when the doctors of the quarter tried to prosecute him +for illegal practice, a deputation of police-guards went to Koupriane, +who took the responsibility and discontinued proceedings against him. +They regarded him as under protection of the saints, and Alexis soon +came to be regarded himself as something of a holy man. He never failed +every Christmas and Easter to send his finest images to Rouletabille, +wishing him all prosperity and saying that if ever he came to St. +Petersburg he should be happy to receive him at Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, +where he was established in honest labor. Pere Alexis, like all the true +saints, was a modest man. + +When Alexis had recovered a little from his emotion Rouletabille said to +him: + +“Pere Alexis, I do bring you poison again, but you have nothing to fear, +for His Excellency the Chief of Police is with me. Here is what we want +you to do. You must tell us what poison these four glasses have held, +and what poison is still in this flask and this little phial.” + +“What is that little phial?” demanded Koupriane, as he saw Rouletabille +pull a small, stoppered bottle out of his pocket. + +The reporter replied, “I have put into this bottle the vodka that was +poured into Natacha’s glass and mine and that we barely touched.” + +“Someone has tried to poison you!” exclaimed Pere Alexis. + +“No, not me,” replied Rouletabille, in bored fashion. “Don’t think about +that. Simply do what I tell you. Then analyze these two napkins, as +well.” + +And he drew from his coat two soiled napkins. + +“Well,” said Koupriane, “you have thought of everything.” + +“They are the napkins the general and his wife used.” + +“Yes, yes, I understand that,” said the Chief of Police. + +“And you, Alexis, do you understand?” asked the reporter. “When can we +have the result of your analysis? + +“In an hour, at the latest.” + +“Very well,” said Koupriane. “Now I need not tell you to hold your +tongue. I am going to leave one of my men here. You will write us a +note that you will seal, and he will bring it to head-quarters. Sure you +understand? In an hour?” + +“In an hour, Excellency.” + +They went out, and Alexis followed them, bowing to the floor. Koupriane +had Rouletabille get into his carriage. The young man did as he was +told. One would have said he did not know where he was or what he did. +He made no reply to the chief’s questions. + +“This Pere Alexander,” resumed Koupriane, “is a character, really quite +a figure. And a bit of a schemer, I should say. He has seen how Father +John of Cronstadt succeeded, and he says to himself, ‘Since the sailors +had their Father John of Cronstadt, why shouldn’t the police-guard have +their Father Alexis of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok?’” + +But Rouletabille did not reply at all, and Koupriane wound up by +demanding what was the matter with him. + +“The matter is,” replied Rouletabille, unable longer to conceal his +anguish, “that the poison continues.” + +“Does that astonish you?” returned Koupriane. “It doesn’t me.” + +Rouletabille looked at him and shook his head. His lips trembled as he +said, “I know what you think. It is abominable. But the thing I have +done certainly is more abominable still.” + +“What have you done, then, Monsieur Rouletabille?” + +“Perhaps I have caused the death of an innocent man.” + +“So long as you aren’t sure of it, you would better not fret about it, +my dear friend.” + +“It is enough that the doubt has arisen,” said the reporter, “almost +to kill me;” and he heaved so gloomy a sigh that the excellent Monsieur +Koupriane felt pity for the lad. He tapped him on the knee. + +“Come, come, young man, you ought to know one thing by this time--‘you +can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs,’ as they say, I think, in +Paris.” + +Rouletabille turned away from him with horror in his heart. If there +should be another, someone besides Michael! If it was another hand than +his that appeared to Matrena and him in the mysterious night! If Michael +Nikolaievitch had been innocent! Well, he would kill himself, that was +all. And those horrible words that he had exchanged with Natacha rose in +his memory, singing in his ears as though they would deafen him. + +“Do you doubt still?” he had asked her, “that Michael tried to poison +your father?” + +And Natacha had replied, “I wish to believe it! I wish to believe it, +for your sake, my poor boy.” And then he recalled her other words, still +more frightful now! “Couldn’t someone have tried to poison my father +and not have come by the window?” He had faced such a hypothesis with +assurance then--but now, now that the poison continued, continued within +the house, where he believed himself so fully aware of all people and +things--continued now that Michael Nikolaievitch was dead--ah, where did +it come from, this poison?--and what was it? Pere Alexis would hurry his +analysis if he had any regard for poor Rouletabille. + +For Rouletabille to doubt, and in an affair where already there was one +man dead through his agency, was torment worse than death. + +When they arrived at police-headquarters, Rouletabille jumped from +Koupriane’s carriage and without saying a word hailed an empty +isvotchick that was passing. He had himself driven back to Pere Alexis. +His doubt mastered his will; he could not bear to wait away. Under the +arch of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok he saw once more the man Koupriane had +placed there with the order to bring him Alexis’s message. The man +looked at him in astonishment. Rouletabille crossed the court and +entered the dingy old room once more. Pere Alexis was not there, +naturally, engaged as he was in his laboratory. But a person whom he did +not recognize at first sight attracted the reporter’s attention. In the +half-light of the shop a melancholy shadow leaned over the ikons on the +counter. It was only when he straightened up, with a deep sigh, and a +little light, deflected and yellow from passing through window-panes +that had known no touch of cleaning since they were placed there, fell +faintly on the face, that Rouletabille ascertained he was face to face +with Boris Mourazoff. It was indeed he, the erstwhile brilliant officer +whose elegance and charm the reporter had admired as he saw him at +beautiful Natacha’s feet in the datcha at Eliaguine. Now, no more in +uniform, he had thrown over his bowed shoulders a wretched coat, whose +sleeves swayed listlessly at his sides, in accord with his mood of +languid desperation, a felt hat with the rim turned down hid a little +the misery in his face in these few days, these not-many hours, how he +was changed! But, even as he was, he still concerned Rouletabille. What +was he doing there? Was he not going to go away, perhaps? He had picked +up an ikon from the counter and carried it over to the window to examine +its oxidized silver, giving such close attention to it that the reporter +hoped he might reach the door of the laboratory without being noticed. +He already had his hand on the knob of that door, which was behind the +counter, when he heard his name called. + +“It is you, Monsieur Rouletabille,” said the low, sad voice of Boris. +“What has brought you here, then?” + +“Well, well, Monsieur Boris Mourazoff, unless I’m mistaken? I certainly +didn’t expect to find you here in Pere Alexis’s place.” + +“Why not, Monsieur Rouletabille? One can find anything here in Pere +Alexis’s stock. See; here are two old ikons in wood, carved with +sculptures, which came direct from Athos, and can’t be equaled, I assure +you, either at Gastini-Dvor nor even at Stchoukine-Dvor.” + +“Yes, yes, that is possible,” said Rouletabille, impatiently. “Are you +an amateur of such things?” he added, in order to say something. + +“Oh, like anybody else. But I was going to tell you, Monsieur +Rouletabille, I have resigned my commission. I have resolved to retire +from the world; I am going on a long voyage.” (Rouletabille thought: +‘Why not have gone at once?’) “And before going, I have come here to +supply myself with some little gifts to send those of my friends I +particularly care for, although now, my dear Monsieur Rouletabille, I +don’t care much for anything.” + +“You look desolate enough, monsieur.” + +Boris sighed like a child. + +“How could it be otherwise?” he said. “I loved and believed myself +beloved. But it proved to be--nothing, alas!” + +“Sometimes one only imagines things,” said Rouletabille, keeping his +hand on the door. + +“Oh, yes,” said the other, growing more and more melancholy. “So a man +suffers. He is his own tormentor; he himself makes the wheel on which, +like his own executioner, he binds himself.” + +“It is not necessary, monsieur; it is not necessary,” counseled the +reporter. + +“Listen,” implored Boris in a voice that showed tears were not far away. +“You are still a child, but still you can see things. Do you believe +Natacha loves me?” + +“I am sure of it, Monsieur Boris; I am sure of it.” + +“I am sure of it, too. But I don’t know what to think now. She has let +me go, without trying to detain me, without a word of hope.” + +“And where are you going like that?” + +“I am returning to the Orel country, where I first saw her.” + +“That is good, very good, Monsieur Boris. At least there you are sure +to see her again. She goes there every year with her parents for a few +weeks. It is a detail you haven’t overlooked, doubtless.” + +“Certainly I haven’t. I will tell you that that prospect decided my +place of retreat.” + +“See!” + +“God gives me nothing, but He opens His treasures, and each takes what +he can.” + +“Yes, yes; and Mademoiselle Natacha, does she know it is to Orel you +have decided to retire?” + +“I have no reason for concealing it from her, Monsieur Rouletabille.” + +“So far so good. You needn’t feel so desolate, my dear Monsieur Boris. +All is not lost. I will say even that I see a future for you full of +hope.” + +“Ah, if you are able to say that truthfully, I am happy indeed to have +met you. I will never forget this rope you have flung me when all the +waters seemed closing over my head. ‘What do you advise, then?” + +“I advise you to go to Orel, monsieur, and as quickly as possible.” + +“Very well. You must have reasons for saying that. I obey you, monsieur, +and go.” + +As Boris started towards the entrance-arch, Rouletabille slipped into +the laboratory. Old Alexis was bent over his retorts. A wretched lamp +barely lighted his obscure work. He turned at the noise the reporter +made. + +“Ah!-you, lad!” + +“‘Well?” + +“Oh, nothing so quick. Still, I have already analyzed the two napkins, +you know.” + +“Yes? The stains? Tell me, for the love of God!” + +“Well, my boy, it is arsenate of soda again.” + +Rouletabille, stricken to the heart, uttered a low cry and everything +seemed to dance around him. Pere Alexis in the midst of all the strange +laboratory instruments seemed Satan himself, and he repulsed the kindly +arms stretched forth to sustain him; in the gloom, where danced here and +there the little blue flames from the crucibles, lively as flickering +tongues, he believed he saw Michael Nikolaievitch’s ghost come to cry, +“The arsenate of soda continues, and I am dead.” He fell against the +door, which swung open, and he rolled as far as the counter, and struck +his face against it. The shock, that might well have been fatal, brought +him out of his intense nightmare and made him instantly himself again. +He rose, jumped over the heap of boots and fol-de-rols, and leaped to +the court. There Boris grabbed him by his coat. Rouletabille turned, +furious: + +“What do you want? You haven’t started for the Orel yet?” + +“Monsieur, I am going, but I will be very grateful if you will take +these things yourself to--to Natacha.” He showed him, still with +despairing mien, the two ikons from Mount Athos, and Rouletabille took +them from him, thrust them in his pocket, and hurried on, crying, “I +understand.” + +Outside, Rouletabille tried to get hold of himself, to recover his +coolness a little. Was it possible that he had made a mortal error? +Alas, alas, how could he doubt it now! The arsenate of soda continued. +He made a superhuman effort to ward off the horror of that, even +momentarily--the death of innocent Michael Nikolaievitch--and to think +of nothing except the immediate consequences, which must be carefully +considered if he wished to avoid some new catastrophe. Ah, the assassin +was not discouraged. And that time, what a piece of work he had tried! +What a hecatomb if he had succeeded! The general, Matrena Petrovna, +Natacha and Rouletabille himself (who almost regretted, so far as he +was concerned, that it had not succeeded)--and Koupriane! Koupriane, who +should have been there for luncheon. What a bag for the Nihilists! +That was it, that was it. Rouletabille understood now why they had not +hesitated to poison everybody at once: Koupriane was among them. + +Michael Nikolaievitch would have been avenged! + +The attempt had failed this time, but what might they not expect now! +From the moment he believed Michael Nikolaievitch no longer guilty, as +he had imagined, Rouletabille fell into a bottomless abyss. + +Where should he go? After a few moments he made the circuit of the +Rotunda, which serves as the market for this quarter and is the finest +ornament of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok. He made the circuit without knowing +it, without stopping for anything, without seeing or understanding +anything. As a broken-winded horse makes its way in the treadmill, so he +walked around with the thought that he also was lost in a treadmill that +led him nowhere. Rouletabille was no longer Rouletabille. + + + + + +XIII. THE LIVING BOMBS + +At random--because now he could only act at random--he returned to the +datcha. Great disorder reigned there. The guard had been doubled. The +general’s friends, summoned by Trebassof, surrounded the two poisoned +sufferers and filled the house with their bustling devotion and their +protestations of affection. However, an insignificant doctor from the +common quarter of the Vasili-Ostrow, brought by the police, reassured +everybody. The police had not found the general’s household physician at +home, but promised the immediate arrival of two specialists, whom they +had found instead. In the meantime they had picked up on the way this +little doctor, who was gay and talkative as a magpie. He had enough +to do looking after Matrena Petrovna, who had been so sick that her +husband, Feodor Feodorovitch, still trembled, “for the first time in his +life,” as the excellent Ivan Petrovitch said. + +The reporter was astonished at not finding Natacha either in Matrena’s +apartment or Feodor’s. He asked Matrena where her step-daughter was. +Matrena turned a frightened face toward him. When they were alone, she +said: + +“We do not know where she is. Almost as soon as you left she +disappeared, and no one has seen her since. The general has asked for +her several times. I have had to tell him Koupriane took her with him to +learn the details from her of what happened.” + +“She is not with Koupriane,” said Rouletabille. + +“Where is she? This disappearance is more than strange at the moment we +were dying, when her father--O God! Leave me, my child; I am stifling; I +am stifling.” + +Rouletabille called the temporary doctor and withdrew from the chamber. +He had come with the idea of inspecting the house room by room, corner +by corner, to make sure whether or not any possibility of entrance +existed that he had not noticed before, an entrance would-be poisoners +were continuing to use. But now a new fact confronted him and +overshadowed everything: the disappearance of Natacha. How he lamented +his ignorance of the Russian language--and not one of Koupriane’s men +knew French. He might draw something out of Ermolai. + +Ermolai said he had seen Natacha just outside the gate for a moment, +looking up and down the road. Then he had been called to the general, +and so knew nothing further. + +That was all the reporter could gather from the gestures rather than the +words of the old servant. + +An additional difficulty now was that twilight drew on, and it was +impossible for the reporter to discern Natacha’s foot-prints. Was it +true that the young girl had fled at such a moment, immediately after +the poisoning, before she knew whether her father and mother were +entirely out of danger? If Natacha were innocent, as Rouletabille still +wished to believe, such an attitude was simply incomprehensible. And the +girl could not but be aware she would increase Koupriane’s suspicions. +The reporter had a vital reason for seeing her immediately, a vital +reason for all concerned, above all in this moment when the Nihilists +were culminating their plans, a vital reason for her and for him, +equally menaced with death, to talk with her and to renew the +propositions he had made a few minutes before the poisoning and which +she had not wished to hear him talk about, in fearful pity for him or in +defiance of him. Where was Natacha? He thought maybe she was trying +to rejoin Annouchka, and there were reasons for that, both if she were +innocent and if she were guilty. But where was Annouchka? Who could say! +Gounsovski perhaps. Rouletabille jumped into an isvo, returning from the +Point empty, and gave Gounsovski’s address. He deigned then to recall +that he had been invited that same day to dine with the Gounsovskis. +They would no longer be expecting him. He blamed himself. + +They received him, but they had long since finished dinner. + +Monsieur and Madame Gounsovski were playing a game of draughts under +the lamp. Rouletabille as he entered the drawing-room recognized the +shining, fattish bald head of the terrible man. Gounsovski came to him, +bowing, obsequious, his fat hands held out. He was presented to Madame +Gounsovski, who was besprinkled with jewels over her black silk gown. +She had a muddy skin and magnificent eyes. She also was tentatively +effusive. “We waited for you, monsieur,” she said, smirking timidly, +with the careful charm of a woman a little along in years who relies +still on infantine graces. As the recreant young man offered his +apologies, “Oh, we know you are much occupied, Monsieur Rouletabille. +My husband said that to me only a moment ago. But he knew you would come +finally. In the end one always accepts my husband’s invitation.” She +said this with a fat smile of importance. + +Rouletabille turned cold at this last phrase. He felt actual fear in +the presence of these two figures, so atrociously commonplace, in their +horrible, decent little drawing-room. + +Madame continued: + +“But you have had rather a bad dinner already, through that dreadful +affair at General Trebassof’s. Come into the dining-room.” “Ah, so +someone has told you?” said Rouletabille. “No, no, thanks; I don’t need +anything more. You know what has happened?” + +“If you had come to dinner, perhaps nothing would have happened at all, +you know,” said Gounsovski tranquilly, seating himself again on the +cushions and considering his game of draughts through his glasses. +“Anyway, congratulations to Koupriane for being away from there through +his fear.” + +For Gounsovski there was only Koupriane! The life or death of Trebassof +did not occupy his mind. Only the acts and movements of the Prefect of +Police had power to move him. He ordered a waiting-maid who glided into +the apartment without making more noise than a shadow to bring a small +stand loaded with zakouskis and bottles of champagne close to the +game-table, and he moved one of his pawns, saying, “You will permit me? +This move is mine. I don’t wish to lose it.” + +Rouletabille ventured to lay his hand on the oily, hairy fist which +extended from a dubious cuff. + +“What is this you tell me? How could you have foreseen it?” + +“It was easy to foresee everything,” replied Gounsovski, offering +cigars, “to foresee everything from the moment Matiew’s place was filled +by Priemkof.” + +“Well?” questioned Rouletabille, recalling with some inquietude the +sight of the whipping in the guards’ chapel. + +“Well, this Priemkof, between ourselves,” (and he bent close to the +reporter’s ear) “is no better, as a police-guard for Koupriane than +Matiew himself. Very dangerous. So when I learned that he took Matiew’s +place at the datcha des Iles, I thought there was sure to be some +unfortunate happening. But it was no affair of mine, was it? Koupriane +would have been able to say to me, ‘Mind your own business.’ I had gone +far enough in warning him of the ‘living bombs.’ They had been denounced +to us by the same agency that enabled us to seize the two living bombs +(women, if you please!) who were going to the military tribunal at +Cronstadt after the rebellion in the fleet. Let him recall that. That +ought to make him reflect. I am a brave man. I know he speaks ill of me; +but I don’t wish him any harm. The interests of the Empire before all +else between us! I wouldn’t talk to you as I do if I didn’t know the +Tsar honors you with his favor. Then I invited you to dinner. As one +dines one talks. But you did not come. And, while you were dining down +there and while Priemkof was on guard at the datcha, that annoying +affair Madame Gounsovski has spoken about happened.” + +Rouletabille had not sat down, in spite of Madame Gounsovski’s +insistences. He took the box of cigars brusquely out of the hand of the +Chief of the Secret Service, who had continued tendering them, for this +detail of hospitality only annoyed his mood, which had been dark enough +for hours and was now deepened by what the other had just said. He +comprehended only one thing, that a man named Priemkof, whom he had +never heard spoken of, as determined as Matiew to destroy the general, +had been entrusted by Koupriane with the guard of the datcha des Iles. +It was necessary to warn Koupriane instantly. + +“How is it that you have not done so already, yourself, Monsieur +Gounsovski? Why wait to speak about it to me? It is unimaginable.” + +“Pardon, pardon,” said Gounsovski, smiling softly behind his goggles; +“it is not the same thing.” + +“No, no, it is not the same thing,” seconded the lady with the black +silk, brilliant jewels and flabby chin. “We speak here to a friend in +the course of dinner-talk, to a friend who is not of the police. We +never denounce anybody.” + +“We must tell you. But sit down now,” Gounsovski still insisted, +lighting his cigar. “Be reasonable. They have just tried to poison him, +so they will take time to breathe before they try something else. Then, +too, this poison makes me think they may have given up the idea of +living bombs. Then, after all, what is to be will be.” + +“Yes, yes,” approved the ample dame. “The police never have been able +to prevent what was bound to happen. But, speaking of this Priemkof, it +remains between us, eh? Between just us?” + +“Yes, we must tell you now,” Gounsovski slipped in softly, “that it will +be much better not to let Koupriane know that you got the information +from me. Because then, you understand, he would not believe you; or, +rather, he would not believe me. That is why we take these precautions +of dining and smoking a cigar. We speak of one thing and another and +you do as you please with what we say. But, to make them useful, it is +absolutely necessary, I repeat, to be silent about their source.” (As +he said that, Gounsovski gave Rouletabille a piercing glance through his +goggles, the first time Rouletabille had seen such a look in his eyes. +He never would have suspected him capable of such fire.) “Priemkof,” + continued Gounsovski in a low voice, using his handkerchief vigorously, +“was employed here in my home and we separated on bad terms, through his +fault, it is necessary to say. Then he got into Koupriane’s confidence +by saying the worst he could of us, my dear little monsieur.” + +“But what could he say?--servants’ stories! my dear little monsieur,” + repeated the fat dame, and rolled her great magnificent black eyes +furiously. “Stories that have been treated as they deserved at Court, +certainly. Madame Daquin, the wife of His Majesty’s head-cook, whom +you certainly know, and the nephew of the second Maid of Honor to the +Empress, who stands very well with his aunt, have told us so; servants’ +stories that might have ruined us but have not produced any effect on +His Majesty, for whom we would give our lives, Christ knows. Well, +you understand now that if you were to say to Koupriane, ‘Gaspadine +Gounsovski has spoken ill to me of Priemkof,’ he would not care to hear +a word further. Still, Priemkof is in the scheme for the living bombs, +that is all I can tell you; at least, he was before the affair of the +poisoning. That poisoning is certainly very astonishing, between us. It +does not appear to have come from without, whereas the living bombs will +have to come from without. And Priemkof is mixed up in it.” + +“Yes, yes,” approved Madame Gounsovski again, “he is committed to it. +There have been stories about him, too. Other people as well as he can +tell tales; it isn’t hard to do. He has got to make some showing now if +he is to keep in with Annouchka’s clique.” + +“Koupriane, our dear Koupriane,” interrupted Gounsovski, slightly +troubled at hearing his wife pronounce Annouchka’s name, “Koupriane +ought to be able to understand that this time Priemkof must bring things +off, or he is definitely ruined.” + +“Priemkof knows it well enough,” replied Madame as she re-filled the +glasses, “but Koupriane doesn’t know it; that is all we can tell you. Is +it enough? All the rest is mere gossip.” + +It certainly was enough for Rouletabille; he had had enough of it! This +idle gossip and these living bombs! These pinchbecks, these +whispering tale-tellers in their bourgeois, countrified setting; these +politico-police combinations whose grotesque side was always uppermost; +while the terrible side, the Siberian aspect, prisons, black holes, +hangings, disappearances, exiles and deaths and martyrdoms remained +so jealously hidden that no one ever spoke of them! All that weight of +horror, between a good cigar and “a little glass of anisette, monsieur, +if you won’t take champagne.” Still, he had to drink before he +left, touch glasses in a health, promise to come again, whenever he +wished--the house was open to him. Rouletabille knew it was open to +anybody--anybody who had a tale to tell, something that would send +some other person to prison or to death and oblivion. No guard at the +entrance to check a visitor--men entered Gounsovski’s house as the house +of a friend, and he was always ready to do you a service, certainly! + +He accompanied the reporter to the stairs. Rouletabille was just about +to risk speaking of Annouchka to him, in order to approach the subject +of Natacha, when Gounsovski said suddenly, with a singular smile: + +“By the way, do you still believe in Natacha Trebassof?” + +“I shall believe in her until my death,” Rouletabille thrust back; “but +I admit to you that at this moment I don’t know where she has gone.” + +“Watch the Bay of Lachtka, and come to tell me to-morrow if you will +believe in her always,” replied Gounsovski, confidentially, with a +horrid sort of laugh that made the reporter hurry down the stairs. + +And now here was Priemkof to look after! Priemkof after Matiew! +It seemed to the young man that he had to contend against all the +revolutionaries not only, but all the Russian police as well--and +Gounsovski himself, and Koupriane! Everybody, everybody! But most +urgent was Priemkof and his living bombs. What a strange and almost +incomprehensible and harassing adventure this was between Nihilism and +the Russian police. Koupriane and Gounsovski both employed a man they +knew to be a revolutionary and the friend of revolutionaries. Nihilism, +on its side, considered this man of the police force as one of its +own agents. In his turn, this man, in order to maintain his perilous +equilibrium, had to do work for both the police and the revolutionaries, +and accept whatever either gave him to do as it came, because it +was necessary he should give them assurances of his fidelity. Only +imbeciles, like Gapone, let themselves be hanged or ended by being +executed, like Azef, because of their awkward slips. But a Priemkof, +playing both branches of the police, had a good chance of living a long +time, and a Gounsovski would die tranquilly in his bed with all the +solaces of religion. + +However, the young hearts hot with sincerity, sheathed with dynamite, +are mysteriously moved in the atrocious darkness of Holy Russia, and +they do not know where they will be sent, and it is all one to them, +because all they ask is to die in a mad spiritual delirium of hate +and love--living bombs!* + + * In the trial after the revolt at Cronstadt two young women + were charged with wearing bombs as false bosoms. + +At the corner of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok Rouletabille came in the way +of Koupriane, who was leaving for Pere Alexis’s place and, seeing the +reporter, stopped his carriage and called that he was going immediately +to the datcha. + +“You have seen Pere Alexis?” + +“Yes,” said Koupriane. “And this time I have it on you. What I told you, +what I foresaw, has happened. But have you any news of the sufferers? +Apropos, rather a curious thing has happened. I met Kister on the Nevsky +just now.” + +“The physician?” + +“Yes, one of Trebassof’s physicians whom I had sent an inspector to his +house to fetch to the datcha, as well as his usual associate, Doctor +Litchkof. Well, neither Litchkof nor he had been summoned. They +didn’t know anything had happened at the datcha. They had not seen my +inspector. I hope he has met some other doctor on the way and, in view +of the urgency, has taken him to the datcha.” + +“That is what has happened,” replied Rouletabille, who had turned very +pale. “Still, it is strange these gentlemen had not been notified, +because at the datcha the Trebassofs were told that the general’s usual +doctors were not at home and so the police had summoned two others who +would arrive at once.” + +Koupriane jumped up in the carriage. + +“But Kister and Litchkof had not left their houses. Kister, who had just +met Litchkof, said so. What does this mean?” + +“Can you tell me,” asked Rouletabille, ready now for the thunder-clap +that his question invited, “the name of the inspector you ordered to +bring them?” + +“Priemkof, a man with my entire confidence.” + +Koupriane’s carriage rushed toward the Isles. Late evening had come. +Alone on the deserted route the horses seemed headed for the stars; the +carriage behind seemed no drag upon them. The coachman bent above them, +arms out, as though he would spring into the ether. Ah, the beautiful +night, the lovely, peaceful night beside the Neva, marred by the wild +gallop of these maddened horses! + +“Priemkof! Priemkof! One of Gounsovski’s men! I should have suspected +him,” railed Koupriane after Rouletabille’s explanations. “But now, +shall we arrive in time?” + +They stood up in the carriage, urging the coachman, exciting the horses: +“Scan! Scan! Faster, douriak!” Could they arrive before the “living +bombs”? Could they hear them before they arrived? Ah, there was +Eliaguine! + +They rushed from the one bank to the other as though there were no +bridges in their insensate course. And their ears were strained for the +explosion, for the abomination now to come, preparing slyly in the night +so hypocritically soft under the cold glance of the stars. Suddenly, +“Stop, stop!” Rouletabille cried to the coachman. + +“Are you mad!” shouted Koupriane. + +“We are mad if we arrive like madmen. That would make the catastrophe +sure. There is still a chance. If we wish not to lose it, then we must +arrive easily and calmly, like friends who know the general is out of +danger.” + +“Our only chance is to arrive before the bogus doctors. Either they +aren’t there, or it already is all over. Priemkof must have been +surprised at the affair of the poisoning, but he has seized the +opportunity; fortunately he couldn’t find his accomplices immediately.” + +“Here is the datcha, anyway. In the name of heaven, tell your driver to +stop the horses here. If the ‘doctors’ are already there it is we who +shall have killed the general.” + +“You are right.” + +Koupriane moderated his excitement and that of his driver and horses, +and the carriage stopped noiselessly, not far from the datcha. Ermolai +came toward them. + +“Priemkof?” faltered Koupriane. + +“He has gone again, Excellency.” + +“How--gone again?” + +“Yes, but he has brought the doctors.” + +Koupriane crushed Rouletabille’s wrist. The doctors were there! + +“Madame Trebassof is better,” continued Ermolai, who understood nothing +of their emotion. “The general is going to meet them and take them to +his wife himself.” + +“Where are they?” + +“They are waiting in the drawing-room.” + +“Oh, Excellency, keep cool, keep cool, and all is not lost,” implored +the reporter. + +Rouletabille and Koupriane slipped carefully into the garden. Ermolai +followed them. + +“There?” inquired Koupriane. + +“There,” Ermolai replied. + +From the corner where they were, and looking through the veranda, they +could see the “doctors” as they waited. + +They were seated in chairs side by side, in a corner of the drawing-room +from where they could see every-thing in the room and a part of the +garden, which they faced, and could hear everything. A window of the +first-floor was open above their heads, so that they could hear any +noise from there. They could not be surprised from any side, and they +held every door in view. They were talking softly and tranquilly, +looking straight before them. They appeared young. One had a pleasant +face, pale but smiling, with rather long, curly hair; the other was more +angular, with haughty bearing and grave face, an eagle nose and glasses. +Both wore long black coats buttoned over their calm chests. + +Koupriane and the reporter, followed by Ermolai, advanced with the +greatest precaution across the lawn. Screened by the wooden steps +leading to the veranda and by the vine-clad balustrade, they got near +enough to hear them. Koupriane gave eager ear to the words of these two +young men, who might have been so rich in the many years of life that +naturally belonged to them, and who were about to die so horrible a +death in destroying all about them. They spoke of what time it was, of +the softness of the night and the beauty of the sky; they spoke of the +shadows under the birch-trees, of the gulf shining in the late evening’s +fading golden light, of the river’s freshness and the sweetness of +springtime in the North. That is what they talked about. Koupriane +murmured, “The assassins!” + +Now it was necessary to decide on action, and that necessity was +horrible. A false movement, an awkwardness, and the “doctors” would be +warned, and everything lost. They must have the bombs under their coats; +there were certainly at least two “living bombs.” Their chests, as +they breathed, must heave to and fro and their hearts beat against an +impending explosion. + +Above on the bedroom floor, they heard the rapid arranging of the room, +steps on the floor and a confusion of voices; shadows passed across the +window-space. Koupriane rapidly interrogated Ermolai and learned that +all the general’s friends were there. The two doctors had arrived only +a couple of minutes before the Prefect of Police and the reporter. +The little doctor of Vassili-Ostrow had already gone, saying there was +nothing more for him to do when two such celebrated specialists had +arrived. However, in spite of their celebrity, no one had ever heard the +names they gave. Koupriane believed the little doctor was an accomplice. +The most necessary thing was to warn those in the room above. There was +immediate danger that someone would come downstairs to find the doctors +and take them to the general, or that the general would come down +himself to meet them. Evidently that was what they were waiting for. +They wished to die in his arms, to make sure that this time he did not +escape them! Koupriane directed Ermolai to go into the veranda and speak +in a commonplace way to them at the threshold of the drawing-room door, +saying that he would go upstairs and see if he might now escort them +to Madame Trebassof’s room. Once in the room above, he could warn the +others not to do anything but wait for Koupriane; then Ermolai was to +come down and say to the men, “In just a moment, if you please.” + +Ermolai crept back as far as the lodge, and then came quite normally up +the path, letting the gravel crunch under his countrified footsteps. +He was an intelligent man, and grasped with extraordinary coolness the +importance of the plan of campaign. Easily and naturally he mounted the +veranda steps, paused at the threshold of the drawing-room, made the +remark he had been told to make, and went upstairs. Koupriane and +Rouletabille now watched the bedroom windows. The flitting shadows there +suddenly became motionless. All moving about ceased; no more steps were +heard, nothing. And that sudden silence made the two “doctors” raise +their faces toward the ceiling. Then they exchanged an aroused glance. +This change in the manner of things above was dangerous. Koupriane +muttered, “The idiots!” It was such a blow for those upstairs to learn +they walked over a mine ready to explode that it evidently had paralyzed +their limbs. Happily Ermolai came down almost immediately and said to +the “doctors” in his very best domestic manner: + +“Just a second, messieurs, if you please.” + +He did it still with utter naturalness. And he returned to the ledge +before he rejoined Koupriane and Rouletabille by way of the lawn. +Rouletabille, entirely cool, quite master of himself, as calm now as +Koupriane was nervous, said to the Prefect of Police: + +“We must act now, and quickly. They are commencing to be suspicious. +Have you a plan?” + +“Here is all I can see,” said Koupriane. “Have the general come down by +the narrow servants’ stairway, and slip out of the house from the window +of Natacha’s sitting-room, with the aid of a twisted sheet. Matrena +Petrovna will come to speak to them during this time; that will keep +them patient until the general is out of danger. As soon as Matrena has +withdrawn into the garden, I will call my men, who will shoot them from +a distance.” + +“And the house itself? And the general’s friends?” + +“Let them try to get away, too, by the servants’ stairway and jump from +the window after the general. We must try something. Say that I have +them at the muzzle of my revolver.” + +“Your plan won’t work,” said Rouletabille, “unless the door of Natacha’s +sitting-room that opens on the drawing-room is closed.” + +“It is. I can see from here.” + +“And unless the door of the little passage-way before that staircase +that opens into the drawing-room is closed also, and you cannot see it +from here.” + +“That door is open,” said Ermolai. + +Koupriane swore. But he recovered himself promptly. + +“Madame Trebassof will close the door when she speaks to them.” + +“It’s impracticable,” said the reporter. “That will arouse their +suspicions more than ever. Leave it to me; I have a plan.” + +“What?” + +“I have time to execute it, but not to tell you about it. They have +already waited too long. I shall have to go upstairs, though. Ermolai +will need to go with me, as with a friend of the family.” + +“I’ll go too.” + +“That would give the whole show away, if they saw you, the Prefect of +Police.” + +“Why, no. If they see me--and they know I ought to be there--as soon +as I show myself to them they will conclude I don’t know anything about +it.” + +“You are wrong.” + +“It is my duty. I should be near the general to defend him until the +last.” + +Rouletabille shrugged his shoulders before this dangerous heroism, but +he did not stop to argue. He knew that his plan must succeed at once, +or in five minutes at the latest there would be only ruins, the dead and +the dying in the datcha des Iles. + +Still he remained astonishingly calm. In principle he had admitted that +he was going to die. The only hope of being saved which remained to them +rested entirely upon their keeping perfectly cool and upon the patience +of the living bombs. Would they still have three minutes’ patience? + +Ermolai went ahead of Koupriane and Rouletabille. At the moment they +reached the foot of the veranda steps the servant said loudly, repeating +his lesson: + +“Oh, the general is waiting for you, Excellency. He told me to have you +come to him at once. He is entirely well and Madame Trebassof also.” + +When they were in the veranda, he added: + +“She is to see also, at once, these gentlemen, who will be able to tell +her there is no more danger.” + +And all three passed while Koupriane and Rouletabille vaguely saluted +the two conspirators in the drawing-room. It was a decisive moment. +Recognizing Koupriane, the two Nihilists might well believe themselves +discovered, as the reporter had said, and precipitate the catastrophe. +However, Ermolai, Koupriane and Rouletabille climbed the stairs to the +bedroom like automatons, not daring to look behind them, and expecting +the end each instant. But neither stirred. Ermolai went down again, by +Rouletabille’s order, normally, naturally, tranquilly. They went into +Matrena Petrovna’s chamber. Everybody was there. It was a gathering of +ghosts. + +Here was what had happened above. That the “doctors” still remained +below, that they had not been received instantly, in brief, that the +catastrophe had been delayed up to now was due to Matrena Petrovna, +whose watchful love, like a watch-dog, was always ready to scent danger. +These two “doctors” whose names she did not know, who arrived so late, +and the precipitate departure of the little doctor of Vassili-Ostrow +aroused her watchfulness. Before allowing them to come upstairs to the +general she resolved to have a look at them herself downstairs. She +arose from her bed for that; and now her presentiment was justified. +When she saw Ermolai, sober and mysterious, enter with Koupriane’s +message, she knew instinctively, before he spoke, that there were bombs +in the house. When Ermolai did speak it was a blow for everybody. At +first she, Matrena Perovna, had been a frightened, foolish figure in +the big flowered dressing-gown belonging to Feodor that she had wrapped +about her in her haste. When Ermolai left, the general, who knew she +only trembled for him, tried to reassure her, and, in the midst of +the frightened silence of all of them, said a few words recalling +the failure of all the previous attempts. But she shook her head and +trembled, shaking with fear for him, in agony at the thought that she +could do nothing there above those living bombs but wait for them to +burst. As to the friends, already their limbs were ruined, absolutely +ruined, in very truth. For a moment they were quite incapable of moving. +The jolly Councilor of Empire, Ivan Petrovitch, had no longer a lively +tale to tell, and the abominable prospect of “this horrible mix-up” + right at hand rendered him much less gay than in his best hours at +Cubat’s place. And poor Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff was whiter than the +snow that covers old Lithuania’s fields when the winter’s chase is on. +Athanase Georgevitch himself was not brilliant, and his sanguine face +had quite changed, as though he had difficulty in digesting his last +masterpiece with knife and fork. But, in justice to them, that was +the first instantaneous effect. No one could learn like that, all of +a sudden, that they were about to die in an indiscriminate slaughter +without the heart being stopped for a little. Ermolai’s words had turned +these amiable loafers into waxen statues, but, little by little, their +hearts commenced to beat again and each suggested some way of preventing +the disaster--all of them sufficiently incoherent--while Matrena +Petrovna invoked the Virgin and at the same time helped Feodor +Feodorovitch adjust his sword and buckle his belt; for the general +wished to die in uniform. + +Athanase Georgevitch, his eyes sticking out of his head and his body +bent as though he feared the Nihlists just below him might perceive his +tall form--through the floor, no doubt--proposed that they should throw +themselves out of the window, even at the cost of broken legs. The +saddened Councilor of Empire declared that project simply idiotic, for +as they fell they would be absolutely at the disposal of the Nihilists, +who would be attracted by the noise and would make a handful of dust of +them with a single gesture through the window. Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff, +who couldn’t think of anything at all, blamed Koupriane and the rest of +the police for not having devised something. Why hadn’t they already got +rid of these Nihilists? After the frightened silence they had kept at +first, now they all spoke at once, in low voices, hoarse and rapid, with +shortened breath, making wild movements of the arms and head, and walked +here and there in the chamber quite without motive, but very softly on +tiptoe, going to the windows, returning, listening at the doors, peering +through the key-holes, exchanging absurd suggestions, full of the +wildest imaginings. “If we should... if... if,”--everybody speaking and +everybody making signs for the others to be quiet. “Lower! If they hear +us, we are lost.” And Koupriane, who did not come, and his police, who +themselves had brought two assassins into the house, and were not +able now to make them leave without having everybody jump! They were +certainly lost. There was nothing left but to say their prayers. They +turned to the general and Matrena Petrovna, who were wrapped in a close +embrace. Feodor had taken the poor disheveled head of the good Matrena +between his hands and pressed it upon his shoulders as he embraced her. +He said, “Rest quietly against my heart, Matrena Petrovna. Nothing can +happen to us except what God wills.” + +At that sight and that remark the others grew ashamed of their +confusion. The harmony of that couple embracing in the presence of death +restored them to themselves, to their courage, and their “Nitchevo.” + Athanase Georgevitch, Ivan Petrovitch and Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff +repeated after Matrena Petrovna, “As God wills.” And then they said +“Nitchevo! Nitchevo!* We will all die with you, Feodor Feodorovitch.” + And they all kissed one another and clasped one another in their arms, +their eyes dim with love one for another, as at the end of a great +banquet when they had eaten and drunk heavily in honor of one another. + + * “What does it matter!” + +“Listen. Someone is coming up the stairs,” whispered Matrena, with her +keen ear, and she slipped from the restraint of her husband. + +Breathless, they all hurried to the door opening on the landing, but +with steps as light “as though they walked on eggs.” All four of them +were leaning over there close by the door, hardly daring to breathe. +They heard two men on the stairs. Were they Koupriane and Rouletabille, +or were they the others? They had revolvers in their hands and drew back +a little when the footsteps sounded near the door. Behind them Trebassof +was quietly seated in his chair. The door was opened and Koupriane and +Rouletabille perceived these death-like figures, motionless and mute. +No one dared to speak or make a movement until the door had been closed. +But then: + +“Well? Well? Save us! Where are they? Ah, my dear little domovoi-doukh, +save the general, for the love of the Virgin!” + +“Tsst! tsst! Silence.” + +Rouletabille, very pale, but calm, spoke: + +“The plan is simple. They are between the two staircases, watching the +one and the other. I will go and find them and make them mount the one +while you descend by the other.” + +“Caracho! That is simple enough. Why didn’t we think of it sooner? +Because everybody lost his head except the dear little domovoi-doukh!” + +But here something happened Rouletabille had not counted on. The general +rose and said, “You have forgotten one thing, my young friend; that is +that General Trebassof will not descend by the servants’ stairway.” + +His friends looked at him in stupefaction, and asked if he had gone mad. + +“What is this you say, Feodor?” implored Matrena. + +“I say,” insisted the general, “that I have had enough of this comedy, +and that since Monsieur Koupriane has not been able to arrest these men, +and since, on their side, they don’t seem to decide to do their duty, I +shall go myself and put them out of my house.” + +He started a few steps, but had not his cane and suddenly he tottered. +Matrena Petrovna jumped to him and lifted him in her arms as though he +were a feather. + +“Not by the servants’ stairway, not by the servants’ stairway,” growled +the obstinate general. + +“You will go,” Matrena replied to him, “by the way I take you.” + +And she carried him back into the apartment while she said quickly to +Rouletabille: + +“Go, little domovoi! And God protect us!” + +Rouletabille disappeared at once through the door to the main staircase, +and the group attended by Koupriane, passed through the dressing-room +and the general’s chamber, Matrena Petrovna in the lead with her +precious burden. Ivan Petrovitch had his hand already on the famous bolt +which locked the door to the servants’ staircase when they all turned at +the sound of a quick step behind them. Rouletabille had returned. + +“They are no longer in the drawing-room.” + +“Not in the drawing-room! Where are they, then?” + +Rouletabille pointed to the door they were about to open. + +“Perhaps behind that door. Take care!” + +All drew back. + +“But Ermolai ought to know where they are,” exclaimed Koupriane. +“Perhaps they have gone, finding out they were discovered.” + +“They have assassinated Ermolai.” + +“Assassinated Ermolai!” + +“I have seen his body lying in the middle of the drawing-room as I +leaned over the top of the banister. But they were not in the room, and +I was afraid you would run into them, for they may well be hidden in the +servants’ stairway.” + +“Then open the window, Koupriane, and call your men to deliver us.” + +“I am quite willing,” replied Koupriane coldly, “but it is the signal +for our deaths.” + +“Well, why do they wait so to make us die?” muttered Feodor +Feodorovitch. “I find them very tedious about it, for myself. What are +you doing, Ivan Petrovitch?” + +The spectral figure of Ivan Petrovitch, bent beside the door of the +stairway, seemed to be hearing things the others could not catch, but +which frightened them so that they fled from the general’s chamber in +disorder. Ivan Petrovitch was close on them, his eyes almost sticking +from his head, his mouth babbling: + +“They are there! They are there!” + +Athanase Georgevitch open a window wildly and said: + +“I am going to jump.” + +But Thaddeus Tchitchnikofl’ stopped him with a word. “For me, I shall +not leave Feodor Feodorovitch.” + +Athanase and Ivan both felt ashamed, and trembling, but brave, they +gathered round the general and said, “We will die together, we will die +together. We have lived with Feodor Feodorovitch, and we will die with +him.” + +“What are they waiting for? What are they waiting for?” grumbled the +general. + +Matrena Petrovna’s teeth chattered. “They are waiting for us to go +down,” said Koupraine. + +“Very well, let us do it. This thing must end,” said Feodor. + +“Yes, yes,” they all said, for the situation was becoming intolerable; +“enough of this. Go on down. Go on down. God, the Virgin and Saints +Peter and Paul protect us. Let us go.” + +The whole group, therefore, went to the main staircase, with the +movements of drunken men, fantastic waving of the arms, mouths +speaking all together, saying things no one but themselves understood. +Rouletabille had already hurriedly preceded them, was down the +staircase, had time to throw a glance into the drawing-room, stepped +over Ermolai’s huge corpse, entered Natacha’s sitting-room and her +chamber, found all these places deserted and bounded back into the +veranda at the moment the others commenced to descend the steps around +Feodor Feodorovitch. The reporter’s eyes searched all the dark corners +and had perceived nothing suspicious when, in the veranda, he moved a +chair. A shadow detached itself from it and glided under the staircase. +Rouletabille cried to the group on the stairs. + +“They are under the staircase!” + +Then Rouletabille confronted a sight that he could never forget all his +life. + +At this cry, they all stopped, after an instinctive move to go back. +Feodor Feodorovitch, who was still in Matrena Petrovna’s arms, cried: + +“Vive le Tsar!” + +And then, those whom the reporter half expected to see flee, distracted, +one way and another, or to throw themselves madly from the height of the +steps, abandoning Feodor and Matrena, gathered themselves instead by +a spontaneous movement around the general, like a guard of honor, in +battle, around the flag. Koupriane marched ahead. And they insisted +also upon descending the terrible steps slowly, and sang the Bodje tsara +Krani, the national anthem! + +With an overwhelming roar, which shocked earth and sky and the ears of +Rouletabille, the entire house seemed lifted in the air; the staircase +rose amid flame and smoke, and the group which sang the Bodje tsara +Krani disappeared in a horrible apotheosis. + + + + + +XIV. THE MARSHES + +They ascertained the next day that there had been two explosions, almost +simultaneous, one under each staircase. The two Nihilists, when +they felt themselves discovered, and watched by Ermolai, had thrown +themselves silently on him as he turned his back in passing them, and +strangled him with a piece of twine. Then they separated each to watch +one of the staircases, reasoning that Koupriane and General Trebassof +would have to decide to descend. + +The datcha des Iles was nothing now but a smoking ruin. But from the +fact that the living bombs had exploded separately the destructive +effect was diffused, and although there were numerous wounded, as in the +case of the attack on the Stolypine datcha, at least no one was killed +outright; that is, excepting the two Nihilists, of whom no trace could +be found save a few rags. + +Rouletabille had been hurled into the garden and he was glad enough to +escape so, a little shaken, but without a scratch. The group composed of +Feodor and his friends were strangely protected by the lightness of the +datcha’s construction. The iron staircase, which, so to speak, almost +hung to the two floors, being barely attached at top and bottom, raised +under them and then threw them off as it broke into a thousand pieces, +but only after, by its very yielding, it had protected them from the +first force of the bomb. They had risen from the ruins without mortal +wounds. Koupriane had a hand badly burned, Athanase Georgevitch had his +nose and cheeks seriously hurt, Ivan Petrovitch lost an ear; the most +seriously injured was Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff, both of whose legs were +broken. Extraordinarily enough, the first person who appeared, rising +from the midst of the wreckage, was Matrena Petrovna, still holding +Feodor in her arms. She had escaped with a few burns and the general, +saved again by the luck of the soldier whom Death does not want, was +absolutely uninjured. Feodor gave shouts of joy. They strove to quiet +him, because, after all, around him some poor wretches had been badly +hurt, as well as poor Ermolai, who lay there dead. The domestics in the +basement had been more seriously wounded and burned because the main +force of the explosion had gone downwards; which had probably saved the +personages above. + +Rouletabille had been taken with the other victims to a neighboring +datcha; but as soon as he had shaken himself free of that terrible +nightmare he escaped from the place. He really regretted that he was not +dead. These successive waves of events had swamped him; and he accused +himself alone of all this disaster. With acutest anxiety he had inquired +about the condition of each of “his victims.” Feodor had not been +wounded, but now he was almost delirious, asking every other minute as +the hours crept on for Natacha, who had not reappeared. That unhappy +girl Rouletabille had steadily believed innocent. Was she a culprit? +“Ah, if she had only chosen to! If she had had confidence,” he cried, +raising anguished hands towards heaven, “none of all this need have +happened. No one would have attacked and no one would ever again attack +the life of Trebassof. For I was not wrong in claiming before Koupriane +that the general’s life was in my hand, and I had the right to say +to him, ‘Life for life! Give me Matiew’s and I will give you the +general’s.’ And now there has been one more fruitless attempt to kill +Feodor Feodorovitch and it is Natacha’s fault--that I swear, because +she would not listen to me. And is Natacha implicated in it? O my God” + Rouletabille asked this vain question of the Divinity, for he expected +no more help in answering it on earth. + +Natacha! Innocent or guilty, where was she? What was she doing? to know +that! To know if one were right or wrong--and if one were wrong, to +disappear, to die! + +Thus the unhappy Rouletabille muttered as he walked along the bank of +the Neva, not far from the ruins of the poor datcha, where the joyous +friends of Feodor Feodorovitch would have no more good dinners, never; +so he soliloquized, his head on fire. + +And, all at once, he recovered trace of the young girl, that trace lost +earlier, a trace left at her moment of flight, after the poisoning and +before the explosion. And had he not in that a terrible coincidence? +Because the poison might well have been only in preparation for the +final attack, the pretext for the tragic arrival of the two false +doctors. Natacha, Natacha, the living mystery surrounded already by so +many dead! + +Not far from the ruins of the datcha Rouletabille soon made sure that a +group of people had been there the night before, coming from the woods +near-by, and returning to them. He was able to be sure of this because +the boundaries of the datcha had been guarded by troops and police as +soon as the explosion took place, under orders to keep back the crowd +that hurried to Eliaguine. He looked attentively at the grass, the +ferns, the broken and trampled twigs. Certainly a struggle had occurred +there. He could distinguish clearly in the soft earth of a narrow glade +the prints of Natacha’s two little boots among all the large footprints. + +He continued his search with his heart heavier and heavier, he had a +presentiment that he was on the point of discovering a new misfortune. +The footprints passed steadily under the branches along the side of the +Neva. From a bush he picked a shred of white cloth, and it seemed to +him a veritable battle had taken place there. Torn branches strewed the +grass. He went on. Very close to the bank he saw by examination of the +soil, where there was no more trace of tiny heels and little soles, +that the woman who had been found there was carried, and carried, into a +boat, of which the place of fastening to the bank was still visible. + +“They have carried off Natacha,” he cried in a surge of anguish. +“bungler that I am, that is my fault too--all my fault--all my fault! +They wished to avenge Michael Nikolaievitch’s death, for which they hold +Natacha responsible, and they have kidnapped her.” + +His eyes searched the great arm of the river for a boat. The river was +deserted. Not a sail, nothing visible on the dead waters! “What shall I +do? What shall I do? I must save her.” + +He resumed his course along the river. Who could give him any useful +information? He drew near a little shelter occupied by a guard. The +guard was speaking to an officer. Perhaps he had noticed something +during his watch that evening along the river. That branch of the river +was almost always deserted after the day was over. A boat plying +between these shores in the twilight would certainly attract attention. +Rouletabille showed the guard the paper Koupriane had given him in the +beginning, and with the officer (who turned out to be a police officer) +as interpreter, he asked his questions. As a matter of fact the guard +had been sufficiently puzzled by the doings and comings of a light boat +which, after disappearing for an instant, around the bend of the river, +had suddenly rowed swiftly out again and accosted a sailing-yacht which +appeared at the opening of the gulf. It was one of those small but rapid +and elegant sailing craft such as are seen in the Lachtka regattas. + +Lachtka! “The Bay of Lachtka!” + +The word was a ray of light for the reporter, who recalled now the +counsel Gounsovski had given him. “Watch the Bay of Lachtka, and tell +me then if you still believe Natacha is innocent!” Gounsovski must have +known when he said this that Natacha had embarked in company with the +Nihilists, but evidently he was ignorant that she had gone with them +under compulsion, as their prisoner. + +Was it too late to save Natacha? In any case, before he died, he would +try in every way possible, so as at least to have kept her as much as he +could from the disaster for which he held himself responsible. He ran to +the Barque, near the Point. + +His voice was firm as he hailed the canoe of the floating restaurant +where, thanks to him, Koupriane had been thwarted in impotent anger. He +had himself taken to just below Staria-Derevnia and jumped out at the +spot where he saw little Katharina disappear a few days before. He +landed in the mud and climbed on hands and knees up the slope of a +roadway which followed the bank. This bank led to the Bay of Lachtka, +not far from the frontier of Finland. + +On Rouletabille’s left lay the sea, the immense gulf with slight waves; +to his right was the decaying stretch of the marsh. Stagnant water +stretching to the horizon, coarse grass and reeds, an extraordinary +tangle of water-plants, small ponds whose greenish scum did not stir +under the stiff breeze, water that was heavy and dirty. Along this +narrow strip of land thrust thus between the marsh, the sky and the sea, +he hurried, with many stumblings, his eyes fixed on the deserted gulf. +Suddenly he turned his head at a singular noise. At first he didn’t see +anything, but heard in the distance a vague clamoring while a sort of +vapor commenced to rise from the marsh. And then he noticed, nearer +him, the high marsh grasses undulating. Finally he saw a countless flock +rising from the bed of the marshes. Beasts, groups of beasts, whose +horns one saw like bayonets, jostled each other trying to keep to the +firm land. Many of them swam and on the backs of some were naked men, +stark naked, with hair falling to their shoulders and streaming +behind them like manes. They shouted war-cries and waved their clubs. +Rouletabille stopped short before this prehistoric invasion. He would +never have imagined that a few miles from the Nevsky Prospect he could +have found himself in the midst of such a spectacle. These savages had +not even a loin-cloth. Where did they come from with their herd? From +what remote place in the world or in old and gone history had they +emerged? What was this new invasion? What prodigious slaughter-house +awaited these unruly herds? They made a noise like thunder in the marsh. +Here were a thousand unkempt haunches undulating in the marsh like the +ocean as a storm approaches. The stark-naked men jumped along the route, +waving their clubs, crying gutturally in a way the beasts seemed to +understand. They worked their way out from the marsh and turned toward +the city, leaving behind, to swathe the view of them a while and then +fade away, a pestilential haze that hung like an aura about the naked, +long-haired men. It was terrible and magnificent. In order not to be +shoved into the water, Rouletabille had climbed a small rock that stood +beside the route, and had waited there as though petrified himself. +When the barbarians had finally passed by he climbed down again, but the +route had become a bog of trampled filth. + +Happily, he heard the noise of a primitive conveyance behind him. It +was a telega. Curiously primitive, the telega is four-wheeled, with two +planks thrown crudely across the axle-trees. Rouletabille gave the man +who was seated in it three roubles, and jumped into the planks beside +him, and the two little Finnish horses, whose manes hung clear to the +mud, went like the wind. Such crude conveyances are necessary on such +crude roads, but it requires a strong constitution to make a journey on +them. Still, the reporter felt none of the jolting, he was so intent +on the sea and the coast of Lachtka Bay. The vehicle finally reached +a wooden bridge, across a murky creek. As the day commenced to fade +colorlessly, Rouletabille jumped off onto the shore and his rustic +equipage crossed to the Sestroriesk side. It was a corner of land black +and somber as his thoughts that he surveyed now. “Watch the Bay of +Lachtka!” The reporter knew that this desolate plain, this impenetrable +marsh, this sea which offered the fugitive refuge in innumerable fords, +had always been a useful retreat for Nihilistic adventurers. A hundred +legends circulated in St. Petersburg about the mysteries of Lachtka +marshes. And that gave him his last hope. Maybe he would be able to run +across some revolutionaries to whom he could explain about Natacha, as +prudently as possible; he might even see Natacha herself. Gounsovski +could not have spoken vain words to him. + +Between the Lachtkrinsky marsh and the strand he perceived on the edge +of the forests which run as far as Sestroriesk a little wooden house +whose walls were painted a reddish-brown, and its roof green. It was +not the Russian isba, but the Finnish touba. However, a Russian sign +announced it to be a restaurant. The young man had to take only a few +steps to enter it. He was the only customer there. An old man, +with glasses and a long gray beard, evidently the proprietor of the +establishment, stood behind the counter, presiding over the zakouskis. +Rouletabille chose some little sandwiches which he placed on a plate. He +took a bottle of pivo and made the man understand that later, if it were +possible, he would like a good hot supper. The other made a sign that +he understood and showed him into an adjoining room which was used for +diners. Rouletabille was quite ready enough to die in the face of his +failures, but he did not wish to perish from hunger. + +A table was placed beside a window looking out over the sea and over the +entrance to the bay. It could not have been better and, with his eye +now on the horizon, now on the estuary near-by, he commenced to eat with +gloomy avidity. He was inclined to feel sorry for himself, to indulge +in self-pity. “Just the same, two and two always make four,” he said to +himself; “but in my calculations perhaps I have forgotten the surd. Ah, +there was a time when I would not have overlooked anything. And even now +I haven’t overlooked anything, if Natacha is innocent!” Having literally +scoured the plate, he struck the table a great blow with his fist and +said: “She is!” + +Just then the door opened. Rouletabille supposed the proprietor of the +place was entering. + +It was Koupriane. + +He rose, startled. He could not imagine by what mystery the Prefect of +Police had made his way there, but he rejoiced from the bottom of his +heart, for if he was trying to rescue Natacha from the hands of the +revolutionaries Koupriane would be a valuable ally. He clapped the +Prefect on the shoulder. + +“Well, well!” he said, almost joyfully. “I certainly did not expect you +here. How is your wound?” + +“Nitchevo! Not worth speaking about; it’s nothing.” + +“And the general and--! Ah, that frightful night! And those two +unfortunates who--?” + +“Nitchevo! Nitchevo!” + +“And poor Ermolai!” + +“Nitchevo! Nitchevo! It is nothing.” + +Rouletabille looked him over. The Prefect of Police had an arm in a +sling, but he was bright and shining as a new ten-rouble piece, while +he, poor Rouletabille, was so abominably soiled and depressed. Where did +he come from? Koupriane understood his look and smiled. + +“Well, I have just come from the Finland train; it is the best way.” + +“But what can you have come here to do, Excellency?” + +“The same thing as you.” + +“Bah!” exclaimed Rouletabille, “do you mean to say that you have come +here to save Natacha?” + +“How--to save her! I come to capture her.” + +“To capture her?” + +“Monsieur Rouletabille, I have a very fine little dungeon in Saints +Peter and Paul fortress that is all ready for her.” + +“You are going to throw Natacha into a dungeon!” + +“The Emperor’s order, Monsieur Rouletabille. And if you see me here in +person it is simply because His Majesty requires that the thing be done +as respectfully and discreetly as possible.” + +“Natacha in prison!” cried the reporter, who saw in horror all obstacles +rising before him at one and the same time. “For what reasons, pray?” + +“The reason is simple enough. Natacha Feodorovna is the last word in +wickedness and doesn’t deserve anybody’s pity. She is the accomplice +of the revolutionaries and the instigator of all the crimes against her +father.” + +“I am sure that you are mistaken, Excellency. But how have you been +guided to her?” + +“Simply by you.” + +“By me?” + +“Yes, we lost all trace of Natacha. But, as you had disappeared also, +I made up my mind that you could only be occupied in searching for her, +and that by finding you I might have the chance to lay my hands on her.” + +“But I haven’t seen any of your men?” + +“Why, one of them brought you here.” + +“Me?” + +“Yes, you. Didn’t you climb onto a telega?” + +“Ah, the driver.” + +“Exactly. I had arranged to have him meet me at the Sestroriesk station. +He pointed out the place where you dropped off, and here I am.” + +The reporter bent his head, red with chagrin. Decidedly the sinister +idea that he was responsible for the death of an innocent man and +all the ills which had followed out of it had paralyzed his detective +talents. He recognized it now. What was the use of struggling! If +anyone had told him that he would be played with that way sometime, +he, Rouletabille! he would have laughed heartily enough--then. But now, +well, he wasn’t capable of anything further. He was his own most cruel +enemy. Not only was Natacha in the hands of the revolutionaries through +his fault, by his abominable error, but worse yet, in the very moment +when he wished to save her, he foolishly, naively, had conducted the +police to the very spot where they should have been kept away. It was +the depth of his humiliation; Koupriane really pitied the reporter. + +“Come, don’t blame yourself too much,” said he. “We would have found +Natacha without you; Gounsovski notified us that she was going to embark +in the Bay of Lachtka this evening with Priemkof.” + +“Natacha with Priemkof!” exclaimed Rouletabille. “Natacha with the man +who introduced the two living bombs into her father’s house! If she is +with him, Excellency, it is because she is his prisoner, and that alone +will be sufficient to prove her innocence. I thank the Heaven that has +sent you here.” + +Koupriane swallowed a glass of vodka, poured another after it, and +finally deigned to translate his thought: + +“Natacha is the friend of these precious men and we will see them +disembark hand in hand.” + +“Your men, then, haven’t studied the traces of the struggle that ‘these +precious men’ have had on the banks of the Neva before they carried away +Natacha?” + +“Oh, they haven’t been hoodwinked. As a matter of fact, the struggle was +quite too visible not to have been done for appearances’ sake. What a +child you are! Can’t you see that Natacha’s presence in the datcha +had become quite too dangerous for that charming young girl after the +poisoning of her father and step-mother failed and at the moment when +her comrades were preparing to send General Trebassof a pleasant little +gift of dynamite? She arranged to get away and yet to appear kidnapped. +It is too simple.” + +Rouletabille raised his head. + +“There is something simpler still to imagine than the culpability of +Natacha. It is that Priemkof schemed to pour the poison into the flask +of vodka, saying to himself that if the poison didn’t succeed at least +it would make the occasion for introducing his dynamite into the house +in the pockets of the ‘doctors’ that they would go to find.” + +Koupriane seized Rouletabille’s wrist and threw some terrible words at +him, looking into the depths of his eyes: + +“It was not Priemkof who poured the poison, because there was no poison +in the flask.” + +Rouletabille, as he heard this extraordinary declaration, rose, more +startled than he had ever been in the course of this startling campaign. + +If there was no poison in the flask, the poison must have been poured +directly into the glasses by a person who was in the kiosk! Now, there +were only four persons in the kiosk: the two who were poisoned and +Natacha and himself, Rouletabille. And that kiosk was so perfectly +isolated that it was impossible for any other persons than the four who +were there to pour poison upon the table. + +“But it is not possible!” he cried. + +“It is so possible that it is so. Pere Alexis declared that there is no +poison in the flask, and I ought to tell you that an analysis I had +made after his bears him out. There was no poison, either, in the small +bottle you took to Pere Alexis and into which you yourself had poured +the contents of Natacha’s glass and yours; no trace of poison excepting +in two of the four glasses, arsenate of soda was found only on the +soiled napkins of Trebassof and his wife and in the two glasses they +drank from.” + +“Oh, that is horrible,” muttered the stupefied reporter; “that is +horrible, for then the poisoner must be either Natacha or me.” + +“I have every confidence in you,” declared Koupriane with a great laugh +of satisfaction, striking him on the shoulder. “And I arrest Natacha, +and you who love logic ought to be satisfied now.” + +Rouletabille hadn’t a word more to say. He sat down again and let his +head fall into his hands, like one sleep has seized. + +“Ah, our young girls; you don’t know them. They are terrible, terrible!” + said Koupriane, lighting a big cigar. “Much more terrible than the boys. +In good families the boys still enjoy themselves; but the girls--they +read! It goes to their heads. They are ready for anything; they know +neither father nor mother. Ah, you are a child, you cannot comprehend. +Two lovely eyes, a melancholy air, a soft, low voice, and you are +captured--you believe you have before you simply an inoffensive, good +little girl. Well, Rouletabille, here is what I will tell you for +your instruction. There was the time of the Tchipoff attack; the +revolutionaries who were assigned to kill Tchipoff were disguised as +coachmen and footmen. Everything had been carefully prepared and it would +seem that no one could have discovered the bombs in the place they had +been stored. Well, do you know the place where those bombs were found? +In the rooms of the governor, of Wladmir’s daughter! Exactly, my little +friend, just there! The rooms of the governor’s daughter, Mademoiselle +Alexeieiv. Ah, these young girls! Besides, it was this same Mademoiselle +Alexeieiv who, so prettily, pierced the brain of an honest Swiss +merchant who had the misfortune to resemble one of our ministers. If +we had hanged that charming young girl earlier, my dear Monsieur +Rouletabille, that last catastrophe might have been avoided. A good rope +around the neck of all these little females--it is the only way, the +only way!” + +A man entered. Rouletabille recognized the driver of the telega. There +were some rapid words between the Chief and the agent. The man closed +the shutters of the room, but through the interstices they would be +able to see what went on outside. Then the agent left; Koupriane, as he +pushed aside the table that was near the window, said to the reporter: + +“You had better come to the window; my man has just told me the boat +is drawing near. You can watch an interesting sight. We are sure that +Natacha is still aboard. The yacht, after the explosion at the datcha, +took up two men who put off to it in a canoe, and since then it has +simply sailed back and forth in the gulf. We have taken our precautions +in Finland the same as here and it is here they are going to try to +disembark. Keep an eye on them.” + +Koupriane was at his post of observation. Evening slowly fell. The sky +was growing grayish-black, a tint that blended with the slate-colored +sea. To those on the bank, the sound of the men about to die came softly +across the water. There was a sail far out. Between the strand and the +touba where Koupriane watched, was a ridge, a window, which, however, +did not hide the shore or the bay from the prefect of police, because at +the height where he was his glance passed at an angle above it. But from +the sea this ridge entirely hid anyone who lay in ambush behind it. The +reporter watched fifty moujiks flat on their stomachs crawling up the +ridge, behind two of their number whose heads alone topped the ridge. +In the line of gaze taken by those two heads was the white sail, looming +much larger now. The yacht was heeled in the water and glided with real +elegance, heading straight on. Suddenly, just when they supposed she was +coming straight to shore, the sails fell and a canoe was dropped over +the side. Four men got into it; then a woman jumped lightly down +a little gangway into the canoe. It was Natacha. Koupriane had no +difficulty in recognizing her through the gathering darkness. + +“Ah, my dear Monsieur Rouletabille,” said he, “see your prisoner of the +Nihilists. Notice how she is bound. Her thongs certainly are causing her +great pain. These revolutionaries surely are brutes!” + +The truth was that Natacha had gone quite readily to the rudder and +while the others rowed she steered the light boat to the place on the +beach that had been pointed out to her. Soon the prow of the canoe +touched the sands. There did not seem to be a soul about, and that was +the conclusion the men in the canoe who stood up looking around, seemed +to reach. They jumped out, and then it was Natacha’s turn. She accepted +the hand held out to her, talking pleasantly with the men all the time. +She even turned to press the hand of one of them. The group came up +across the beach. All this time the watchers in the little eating-house +could see the false moujiks, who had wriggled on their stomachs to the +very edge of the ridge, holding themselves ready to spring. + +Behind his shutter, Koupriane could not restrain an exclamation of +triumph; he gradually identified some of the figures in the group, and +muttered: + +“Eh! eh! There is Priemkof himself and the others. Gounsovski is right +and he certainly is well-informed; his system is decidedly a good one. +What a net-full!” + +He hardly breathed as he watched the outcome. He could discern +elsewhere, beside the bay, flat on the ground, concealed by the +slightest elevation of the soil, other false moujiks. The wood of +Sestroriesk was watched in the same way. The group of revolutionaries +who strolled behind Natacha stopped to confer. In three--maybe +two--minutes, they would be surrounded--cut off, taken in the trap. +Suddenly a gunshot sounded in the night, and the group, with startled +speed, turned in their tracks and made silently for the sea, while from +all directions poured the concealed agents and threw themselves into +the pursuit, jostling each other and crying after the fugitives. But the +cries became cries of rage, for the group of revolutionaries gained the +beach. They saw Natacha, who was held up by Priemkof himself, reject the +aid of the Nihilist, who did not wish to abandon her, in order that he +might save himself. She made him go and seeing that she was going to +be taken, stopped short and waited for the enemy stoically, with folded +arms. Meanwhile, her three companions succeeded in throwing themselves +into the canoe and plied the oars hard while Koupriane’s men, in the +water up to their chests, discharged their revolvers at the fugitives. +The men in the canoe, fearing to wound Natacha, made no reply to the +firing. The yacht had sails up by the time they drew alongside, and +made off like a bird toward the mysterious fords of Finland, audaciously +hoisting the black flag of the Revolution. + +Meantime, Koupriane’s agents, trembling before his anger, gathered at +the eating-house. The Prefect of Police let his fury loose on them and +treated them like the most infamous of animals. The capture of Natacha +was little comfort. He had planned for the whole bag, and his men’s +stupidity took away all his self-control. If he had had a whip at hand +he would have found prompt solace for his mined hopes. Natacha, standing +in a corner, with her face singularly calm, watched this extraordinary +scene that was like a menagerie in which the tamer himself had become +a wild beast. From another corner, Rouletabille kept his eyes fixed on +Natacha who ignored him. Ah, that girl, sphinx to them all! Even to him +who thought a while ago that he could read things invisible to other +vulgar men in her features, in her eyes! The impassive face of that girl +whose father they had tried to assassinate only a few hours before and +who had just pressed the hand of Priemkof, the assassin! Once she turned +her head slightly toward Rouletabille. The reporter then looked towards +her with increased eagerness, his eyes burning, as though he would say: +“Surely, Natacha, you are not the accomplice of your father’s assassins; +surely it was not you who poured the poison!” + +But Natacha’s glance passed the reporter coldly over. Ah, that +mysterious, cold mask, the mouth with its bitter, impudent smile, an +atrocious smile which seemed to say to the reporter: “If it is not I who +poured the poison, then it is you!” + +It was the visage common enough to the daughters whom Koupriane had +spoken of a little while before, “the young girls who read” and, their +reading done, set themselves to accomplish some terrible thing, some +thing because of which, from time to time, they place stiff ropes around +the necks of these young females. + +Finally, Koupriane’s frenzy wore itself out and he made a sign. The men +filed out in dismal silence. Two of them remained to guard Natacha. From +outside came the sounds of a carriage from Sestroriesk ready to convey +the girl to the Dungeons of Sts. Peter and Paul. A final gesture from +the Prefect of Police and the rough bands of the two guards seized the +prisoner’s frail wrists. They hustled her along, thrust her outside, +jamming her against the doorway, venting thus their anger at the +reproaches of their chief. A few seconds later the carriage departed, +not to stop until the fortress was reached with the trickling +tombs under the bed of the river where young girls about to die are +confined--who have read too much, without entirely understanding, as +Monsieur Kropotkine says. + +Koupriane prepared to leave in turn. Rouletabille stopped him. + +“Excellency, I wish you to tell me why you have shown such anger to your +men just now.” + +“They are brute beasts,” cried the Chief of Police, quite beside himself +again. “They have made me miss the biggest catch of my life. They threw +themselves on the group two minutes too early. Some of them fired a gun +that they took for the signal and that served to warn the Nihilists. +But I will let them all rot in prison until I learn which one fired that +shot.” + +“You needn’t look far for that,” said Rouletabille. “I did it.” + +“You! Then you must have gone outside the touba?” + +“Yes, in order to warn them. But still I was a little late, since you +did take Natacha.” + +Koupriane’s eyes blazed. + +“You are their accomplice in all this,” he hurled at the reporter, “and +I am going to the Tsar for permission to arrest you.” + +“Hurry, then, Excellency,” replied the reporter coldly, “because the +Nihilists, who also think they have a little account to settle with me, +may reach me before you.” + +And he saluted. + + + + + +XV. “I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU” + +At the hotel a note from Gounsovski: “Don’t forget this time to +come to-morrow to have luncheon with me. Warmest regards from Madame +Gounsovski.” Then a horrible, sleepless night, shaken with echoes of +explosions and the clamor of the wounded; and the solemn shade of Pere +Alexis, stretching out toward Rouletabille a phial of poison and saying, +“Either Natacha or you!” Then, rising among the shades the bloody form +of Michael Nikolaievitch the Innocent! + +In the morning a note from the Marshal of the Court. + +Monsieur le Marechal had no particular good news, evidently, for in +terms quite without enthusiasm he invited the young man to luncheon for +that same day, rather early, at midday, as he wished to see him once +more before he left for France. “I see,” said Rouletabille to himself; +“Monsieur le Marechal pronounces my expulsion from the country”--and he +forgot once more the Gounsovski luncheon. The meeting-place named was +the great restaurant called the Bear. Rouletabille entered it promptly +at noon. He asked the schwitzar if the Grand Marshal of the Court had +arrived, and was told no one had seen him yet. They conducted him to +the huge main hall, where, however, there was only one person. This man, +standing before the table spread with zakouskis, was stuffing himself. +At the sound of Rouletabille’s step on the floor this sole famished +patron turned and lifted his hands to heaven as he recognized the +reporter. The latter would have given all the roubles in his pocket to +have avoided the recognition. But he was already face to face with +the advocate so celebrated for his table-feats, the amiable Athanase +Georgevitch, his head swathed in bandages and dressings from the midst +of which one could perceive distinctly only the eyes and, above all, the +mouth. + +“How goes it, little friend?” + +“How are you?” + +“Oh, I! There is nothing the matter. In a week we shall have forgotten +it.” + +“What a terrible affair,” said the reporter, “I certainly believed we +were all dead men.” + +“No, no. It was nothing. Nitchevo!” + +“And poor Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff with his two poor legs broken!” + +“Eh! Nitchevo! He has plenty of good solid splints that will make him +two good legs again. Nitchevo! Don’t you think anything more about that! +It is nothing. You have come here to dine? A very celebrated house this. +Caracho!” He busied himself to do the honors. One would have said the +restaurant belonged to him. He boasted of its architecture and the +cuisine “a la Francaise.” + +“Do you know,” he inquired confidently, “a finer restaurant room +anywhere in the world?” + +In fact, it seemed to Rouletabille as he looked up into the high glass +arch that he was in a railway station decorated for some illustrious +traveler, for there were flowers and plants everywhere. But the visitor +whom the ball awaited was the Russian eater, the ogre who never failed +to come to eat at The Bear. Pointing out the lines of tables shining +with their white cloths and bright silver, Athanase Georgevitch, with +his mouth full, said: + +“Ah, my dear little French monsieur, you should see it at supper-time, +with the women, and the jewels, and the music. There is nothing in +France that can give you any idea of it, nothing! The gayety--the +champagne--and the jewels, monsieur, worth millions and millions of +roubles! Our women wear them all--everything they have. They are decked +like sacred shrines! All the family jewels--from the very bottom of the +caskets! it is magnificent, thoroughly Russian--Muscovite! What am +I saying? It is Asiatic. Monsieur, in the evening, at a fete, we are +Asiatic. Let me tell you something on the quiet. You notice that this +enormous dining hall is surrounded by those windowed balconies. Each of +those windows belongs to a separate private room. Well, you see that +window there?--yes, there--that is the room of a grand duke--yes, he’s +the one I mean--a very gay grand duke. Do you know, one evening when +there was a great crowd here--families, monsieur, family parties, +high-born families--the window of that particular balcony was thrown +open, and a woman stark naked, as naked as my hand, monsieur, was +dropped into the dining-hall and ran across it full-speed. It was a +wager, monsieur, a wager of the jolly grand duke’s, and the demoiselle +won it. But what a scandal! Ah, don’t speak of it; that would be very +bad form. But--sufficiently Asiatic, eh? Truly Asiatic. And--something +much more unfortunate--you see that table? It happened the Russian New +Year Eve, at supper. All the beauty, the whole capital, was here. Just +at midnight the orchestra struck up the Bodje tsara krani* to inaugurate +the joyful Russian New Year, and everybody stood up, according to +custom, and listened in silence, as loyal subjects should. Well, at +that table, accompanying his family, there was a young student, a fine +fellow, very correct, and in uniform. This unhappy young student, who +had risen like everybody else, to listen to the Bodje tsara krani, +inadvertently placed his knee on a chair. Truly that is not a correct +attitude, monsieur, but really it was no reason for killing him, was +it now? Certainly not. Well, a brute in uniform, an officer quite +immaculately gotten-up, drew a revolver from his pocket and discharged +it at the student point-blank. You can imagine the scandal, for the +student was dead! There were Paris journalists there, besides, who had +never been there before, you see! Monsieur Gaston Leroux was at that +very table. What a scandal! They had a regular battle. They broke +carafes over the head of the assassin--for he was neither more nor less +than an assassin, a drinker of blood--an Asiatic. They picked up the +assassin, who was bleeding all over, and carried him off to look after +him. As to the dead man, he lay stretched out there under a table-cloth, +waiting for the police--and those at the tables went on with their +drinking. Isn’t that Asiatic enough for you? Here, a naked woman; there, +a corpse! And the jewels--and the champagne! What do you say to that?” + + * The Russian national anthem. + +“His Excellency the Grand Marshal of the Court is waiting for you, +Monsieur.” + +Rouletabille shook hands with Athanase Georgevitch, who returned to +his zakouskis, and followed the interpreter to the door of one of +the private rooms. The high dignitary was there. With a charm in his +politeness of which the high-born Russian possesses the secret +over almost everybody else in the world, the Marshal intimated to +Rouletabille that he had incurred imperial displeasure. + +“You have been denounced by Koupriane, who holds you responsible for the +checks he has suffered in this affair.” + +“Monsieur Koupriane is right,” replied Rouletabille, “and His Majesty +should believe him, since it is the truth. But don’t fear anything from +me, Monsieur le Grand Marechal, for I shall not inconvenience Monsieur +Koupriane any further, nor anybody else. I shall disappear.” + +“I believe Koupriane is already directed to vise your passport.” + +“He is very good, and he does himself much harm.” + +“All that is a little your fault, Monsieur Rouletabille. We believed we +could consider you as a friend, and you have never failed, it appears, +on each occasion to give your help to our enemies. + +“Who says that?” + +“Koupriane. Oh, it is necessary to be one with us. And you are not one +with us. And if you are not for us you are against us. You understand +that, I think. That is the way it has to be. The Terrorists have +returned to the methods of the Nihilists, who succeeded altogether +too well against Alexander II. When I tell you that they succeeded in +placing their messages even in the imperial palace...” + +“Yes, yes,” said Rouletabille, vaguely, as though he were already +far removed from the contingencies of this world. “I know that Czar +Alexander II sometimes found under his napkin a letter announcing his +condemnation to death.” + +“Monsieur, at the Chateau yesterday morning something happened that is +perhaps more alarming than the letter found by Alexander II under his +napkin.” + +“What can it be? Have bombs been discovered?” + +“No. It is a bizarre occurrence and almost unbelievable. The eider +downs, all the eider down coverings belonging to the imperial +family disappeared yesterday morning.” * + + * Historically authentic. + +“Surely not!” + +“It is just as I say. And it was impossible to learn what had become +of them--until yesterday evening, when they were found again in their +proper places in the chambers. That is the new mystery!” + +“Certainly. But how were they taken out?” + +“Shall we ever know? All we found was two feathers, this morning, in +the boudoir of the Empress, which leads us to think that the eider downs +were taken out that way. I am taking the two feathers to Koupriane.” + +“Let me see them,” asked the reporter. + +Rouletabille looked them over and handed them back. + +“And what do you think the whole affair means?” + +“We are inclined to regard it as a threat by the revolutionaries. If +they can carry away the eider downs, it would be quite as easy for them +to carry away...” + +“The Imperial family? No, I don’t think it is that.” + +“What do you mean, then?” + +“I? Nothing any more. Not only do I not think any more, but I don’t wish +to. Tell me, Monsieur le Grand Marechal, it is useless, I suppose, to +try to see His Majesty before I go?” + +“What good would it do, monsieur? We know everything now. This Natacha +that you defended against Koupriane is proved the culprit. The last +affair does not leave that in any reasonable doubt. And she is taken +care of from this time on. His Majesty wishes never to hear Natacha +spoken of again under any pretext.” + +“And what are you going to do with that young girl?” + +“The Tsar has decided that there shall not be any trial and that the +daughter of General Trebassof shall be sent, by administrative order, +to Siberia. The Tsar, monsieur, is very good, for he might have had her +hanged. She deserved it.” + +“Yes, yes, the Tsar is very good.” + +“You are very absorbed, Monsieur Rouletabille, and you are not eating.” + +“I have no appetite, Monsieur le Marechal. Tell me,--the Emperor must be +rather bored at Tsarskoie-Coelo?” + +“Oh, he has plenty of work. He rises at seven o’clock and has a light +English luncheon--tea and toast. At eight o’clock he starts and works +till ten. From ten to eleven he promenades.” + +“In the jail-yard?” asked Rouletabille innocently. + +“What’s that you say? Ah, you are an enfant terrible! Certainly we do +well to send you away. Until eleven he promenades in a pathway of the +park. From eleven to one he holds audience; luncheon at one; then he +spends the time until half-past two with his family.” + +“What does he eat?” + +“Soup. His Majesty is wonderfully fond of soup. He takes it at every +meal. After luncheon he smokes, but never a cigar--always cigarettes, +gifts of the Sultan; and he only drinks one liqueur, Maraschino. At +half-past two he goes out again for a little air--always in his park; +then he sets himself to work until eight o’clock. It is simply frightful +work, with heaps of useless papers and numberless signatures. No +secretary can spare him that ungrateful bureaucratic duty. He must sign, +sign, sign, and read, read, read the reports. And it is work without any +beginning or end; as soon as some reports go, others arrive. At eight +o’clock, dinner, and then more signatures, working right up to eleven +o’clock. At eleven o’clock he goes to bed.” + +“And he sleeps to the rhythmical tramp of the guards on patrol,” added +Rouletabille, bluntly. + +“O young man, young man!” + +“Pardon me, Monsieur le Grand Marechal,” said the reporter, rising; “I +am, indeed, a disturbing spirit and I know that I have nothing more +to do in this country. You will not see me any more, Monsieur le Grand +Marechal; but before leaving I ought to tell you how much I have been +touched by the hospitality of your great nation. That hospitality is +sometimes a little dangerous, but it is always magnificent. No other +nation in the world knows like the Russians how to receive a man, Your +Excellency. I speak as I feel; and that isn’t affected by my manner of +quitting you, for you know also how to put a man to the door. Adieu, +then; without any rancor. My most respectful homage to His Majesty. Ah, +just one word more! You will recall that Natacha Feodorovna was engaged +to poor Boris Mourazoff, still another young man who has disappeared and +who, before disappearing, charged me to deliver to General Trebassof’s +daughter this last token--these two little ikons. I entrust you with +this mission, Monsieur le Grand Marechal. Your servant, Excellency.” + +Rouletabille re-descended the great Kaniouche. “Now,” said he to +himself, “it is my turn to buy farewell presents.” And he made his +way slowly across la Place des Grandes-Ecuries and the bridge of the +Katharine canal. He entered Aptiekarski-Pereoulok and pushed open Pere +Alexis’s door, under the arch, at the back of the obscure court. + +“Health and prosperity, Alexis Hutch!” + +“Ah, you again, little man! Well? Koupriane has let you know the result +of my analyses?” + +“Yes, yes. Tell me, Alexis Hutch, you are sure you are not mistaken? You +don’t think you might be mistaken? Think carefully before you answer. It +is a question of life or death.” + +“For whom?” + +“For me.” + +“For you, good little friend! You want to make your old Pere Alexis +laugh--or weep!” + +“Answer me.” + +“No, I couldn’t be mistaken. The thing is as certain as that we two are +here--arsenate of soda in the stains on the two napkins and traces of +arsenate of soda in two of the four glasses; none in the carafe, none +in the little bottle, none in the two glasses. I say it before you and +before God.” + +“So it is really true. Thank you, Alexis Hutch. Koupriane has not tried +to deceive me. There has been nothing of that sort. Well, do you know, +Alexis Hutch, who has poured the poison? It is she or I. And as it is +not I, it is she. And since it is she, well, I am going to die!” + +“You love her, then?” inquired Pere Alexis. + +“No,” replied Rouletabille, with a self-mocking smile. “No, I don’t love +her. But if it is she who poured the poison, then it was not Michael +Nikolaievitch, and it is I who had Michael Nikolaievitch killed. You can +see now that therefore I must die. Show me your finest images. + +“Ah, my little one, if you will permit your old Alexis to make you a +gift, I would offer you these two poor ikons that are certainly from the +convent of Troitza at its best period. See how beautiful they are, and +old. Have you ever seen so beautiful a Mother of God? And this St. +Luke, would you believe that the hand had been mended, eh? Two little +masterpieces, little friend! If the old masters of Salonika returned to +the world they would be satisfied with their pupils at Troitza. But you +mustn’t kill yourself at your age!” + +“Come, bat ouclzka (little father), I accept your gift, and, if I meet +the old Salonican masters on the road I am going to travel, I shan’t +fail to tell them there is no person here below who appreciates them +like a certain pere of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, Alexis Hutch.” + +So saying Rouletabille wrapped up the two little ikons and put them +in his pocket. The Saint Luke would be sure to appeal to his friend +Sainclair. As to the Mother of God, that would be his dying gift to the +Dame en noir. + +“Ah, you are sad, little son; and your voice, as it sounds now, hurts +me.” + +Rouletabille turned his head at the sound of two moujiks who entered, +carrying a long basket. + +“What do you want?” demanded Pere Alexis in Russian, “and what is that +you are bringing in? Do you intend to fill that huge basket with my +goods? In that case you are very welcome and I am your humble servant.” + +But the two chuckled. + +“Yes, yes, we have come to rid your shop of a wretched piece of goods +that litters it.” + +“What is this you say?” inquired the old man, anxiously, and drawing +near Rouletabille. “Little friend, watch these men; I don’t recognize +their faces and I can’t understand why they have come here.” + +Rouletabille looked at the new-comers, who drew near the counter, after +depositing their long basket close to the door. There was a sarcastic +and malicious mocking way about them that struck him from the first. But +while they kept up their jabbering with Pere Alexis he filled his pipe +and proceeded to light it. Just then the door was pushed open again and +three men entered, simply dressed, like respectable small merchants. +They also acted curiously and looked all around the shop. Pere Alexis +grew more and more alarmed and the others pulled rudely at his beard. + +“I believe these men here have come to rob me,” he cried in French. +“What do you say, my son?--Shall I call the police?” + +“Hold on,” replied Rouletabille impassively. “They are all armed; they +have revolvers in their pockets.” + +Pere Alexis’s teeth commenced to chatter. As he tried to get near +the door he was roughly pushed back and a final personage entered, +apparently a gentleman, and dressed as such, save that he wore a visored +leather cap. + +“Ah,” said he at once in French, “why, it is the young French journalist +of the Grand-Morskaia Hotel. Salutations and your good health! I see +with pleasure that you also appreciate the counsels of our dear Pere +Alexis.” + +“Don’t listen to him, little friend; I don’t know him,” cried Alexis +Hutch. + +But the gentleman of the Neva went on: + +“He is a man close to the first principles of science, and therefore not +far from divine; he is a holy man, whom it is good to consult at moments +when the future appears difficult. He knows how to read as no one else +can--Father John of Cronstadt excepted, to be strictly accurate--on the +sheets of bull-hide where the dark angels have traced mysterious signs +of destiny.” + +Here the gentleman picked up an old pair of boots, which he threw on the +counter in the midst of the ikons. + +“Pere Alexis, perhaps these are not bull-hide, but good enough cow-hide. +Don’t you want to read on this cow-hide the future of this young man?” + +But here Rouletabille advanced to the gentleman, and blew an enormous +cloud of smoke full in his face. + +“It is useless, monsieur,” said Rouletabille, “to waste your time and +your breath. I have been waiting for you.” + + + + + +XVI. BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL + +Only, Rouletabille refused to be put into the basket. He would not let +them disarm him until they promised to call a carriage. The Vehicle +rolled into the court, and while Pere Alexis was kept back in his shop +at the point of a revolver, Rouletabille quietly got in, smoking his +pipe. The man who appeared to be the chief of the band (the gentleman of +the Neva) got in too and sat down beside him. The carriage windows were +shuttered, preventing all communication with the outside, and only a +tiny lantern lighted the interior. They started. The carriage was driven +by two men in brown coats trimmed with false astrakhan. The dvornicks +saluted, believing it a police affair. The concierge made the sign of +the cross. + +The journey lasted several hours without other incidents than those +brought about by the tremendous jolts, which threw the two passengers +inside one on top of the other. This might have made an opening for +conversation; and the “gentleman of the Neva” tried it; but in vain. +Rouletabille would not respond. At one moment, indeed, the gentleman, +who was growing bored, became so pressing that the reporter finally said +in the curt tone he always used when he was irritated: + +“I pray you, monsieur, let me smoke my pipe in peace.” + +Upon which the gentleman prudently occupied himself in lowering one of +the windows, for it grew stifling. + +Finally, after much jolting, there was a stop while the horses +were changed and the gentleman asked Rouletabille to let himself be +blindfolded. “The moment has come; they are going to hang me without +any form of trial,” thought the reporter, and when, blinded with the +bandage, he felt himself lifted under the arms, there was revolt of his +whole being, that being which, now that it was on the point of dying, +did not wish to cease. Rouletabille would have believed himself +stronger, more courageous, more stoical at least. But blind instinct +swept all of this away, that instinct of conservation which had no +concern with the minor bravadoes of the reporter, no concern with the +fine heroic manner, of the determined pose to die finely, because +the instinct of conservation, which is, as its rigid name indicates, +essentially materialistic, demands only, thinks of nothing but, to live. +And it was that instinct which made Rouletabille’s last pipe die out +unpuffed. + +The young man was furious with himself, and he grew pale with the fear +that he might not succeed in mastering this emotion, he took fierce +hold of himself and his members, which had stiffened at the contact +of seizure by rough hands, relaxed, and he allowed himself to be led. +Truly, he was disgusted with his faintness and weakness. He had seen men +die who knew they were going to die. His task as reporter had led him +more than once to the foot of the guillotine. And the wretches he had +seen there had died bravely. Extraordinarily enough, the most criminal +had ordinarily met death most bravely. Of course, they had had leisure +to prepare themselves, thinking a long time in advance of that supreme +moment. But they affronted death, came to it almost negligently, found +strength even to say banal or taunting things to those around them. He +recalled above all a boy of eighteen years old who had cowardly murdered +an old woman and two children in a back-country farm, and had walked to +his death without a tremor, talking reassuringly to the priest and the +police official, who walked almost sick with horror on either side of +him. Could he, then, not be as brave as that child? + +They made him mount some steps and he felt that he had entered the +stuffy atmosphere of a closed room. Then someone removed the bandage. +He was in a room of sinister aspect and in the midst of a rather large +company. + +Within these naked, neglected walls there were about thirty young men, +some of them apparently quite as young as Rouletabille, with candid blue +eyes and pale complexions. The others, older men, were of the physical +type of Christs, not the animated Christs of Occidental painters, but +those that are seen on the panels of the Byzantine school or fastened on +the ikons, sculptures of silver or gold. Their long hair, deeply parted +in the middle, fell upon their shoulders in curl-tipped golden masses. +Some leant against the wall, erect, and motionless. Others were seated +on the floor, their legs crossed. Most of them were in winter coats, +bought in the bazaars. But there were also men from the country, with +their skins of beasts, their sayons, their touloupes. One of them had +his legs laced about with cords and was shod with twined willow twigs. +The contrast afforded by various ones of these grave and attentive +figures showed that representatives from the entire revolutionary party +were present. At the back of the room, behind a table, three young men +were seated, and the oldest of them was not more than twenty-five and +had the benign beauty of Jesus on feast-days, canopied by consecrated +palms. + +In the center of the room a small table stood, quite bare and without +any apparent purpose. + +On the right was another table with paper, pens and ink-stands. It was +there that Rouletabille was conducted and asked to be seated. Then he +saw that another man was at his side, who was required to keep standing. +His face was pale and desperate, very drawn. His eyes burned somberly, +in spite of the panic that deformed his features Rouletabille recognized +one of the unintroduced friends whom Gounsovski had brought with him to +the supper at Krestowsky. Evidently since then the always-threatening +misfortune had fallen upon him. They were proceeding with his trial. The +one who seemed to preside over these strange sessions pronounced a name: + +“Annouchka!” + +A door opened, and Annouchka appeared. + +Rouletabille hardly recognized her, she was so strangely dressed, +like the Russian poor, with her under-jacket of red-flannel and the +handkerchief which, knotted under her chin, covered all her beautiful +hair. + +She immediately testified in Russian against the man, who protested +until they compelled him to be silent. She drew from her pocket papers +which were read aloud, and which appeared to crush the accused. He +fell back onto his seat. He shivered. He hid his head in his hands, and +Rouletabille saw the hands tremble. The man kept that position while +the other witnesses were heard, their testimony arousing murmurs of +indignation that were quickly checked. Annouchka had gone to take her +place with the others against the wall, in the shadows which more and +more invaded the room, at this ending of a lugubrious day. Two windows +reaching to the floor let a wan light creep with difficulty through +their dirty panes, making a vague twilight in the room. Soon nothing +could be seen of the motionless figures against the wall, much as the +faces fade in the frescoes from which the centuries have effaced the +colors in the depths of orthodox convents. + +Now someone from the depths of the shadow and the appalling silence read +something; the verdict, doubtless. + +The voice ceased. + +Then some of the figures detached themselves from the wall and advanced. + +The man who crouched near Rouletabille rose in a savage bound and cried +out rapidly, wild words, supplicating words, menacing words. + +And then--nothing more but strangling gasps. The figures that had moved +out from the wall had clutched his throat. + +The reporter said, “It is cowardly.” + +Annouchka’s voice, low, from the depths of shadow, replied, “It is +just.” + +But Rouletabille was satisfied with having said that, for he had proved +to himself that he could still speak. His emotion had been such, since +they had pushed him into the center of this sinister and expeditious +revolutionary assembly of justice, that he thought of nothing but the +terror of not being able to speak to them, to say something to them, no +matter what, which would prove to them that he had no fear. Well, that +was over. He had not failed to say, “That is cowardly.” + +And he crossed his arms. But he soon had to turn away his head in order +not to see the use the table was put to that stood in the center of the +room, where it had seemed to serve no purpose. + +They had lifted the man, still struggling, up onto the little table. +They placed a rope about his neck. Then one of the “judges,” one of the +blond young men, who seemed no older than Rouletabille, climbed on the +table and slipped the other end of the rope through a great ring-bolt +that projected from a beam of the ceiling. During this time the man +struggled futilely, and his death-rattle rose at last though the +continued noise of his resistance and its overcoming. But his last +breath came with so violent a shake of the body that the whole +death-apparatus, rope and ring-bolt, separated from the ceiling, and +rolled to the ground with the dead man. + +Rouletabille uttered a cry of horror. “You are assassins!” he cried. +But was the man surely dead? It was this that the pale figures with the +yellow hair set themselves to make sure of. He was. Then they brought +two sacks and the dead man was slipped into one of them. + +Rouletabille said to them: + +“You are braver when you kill by an explosion, you know.” + +He regretted bitterly that he had not died the night before in the +explosion. He did not feel very brave. He talked to them bravely enough, +but he trembled as his time approached. That death horrified him. He +tried to keep from looking at the other sack. He took the two ikons, +of Saint Luke and of the Virgin, from his pocket and prayed to them. He +thought of the Lady in Black and wept. + +A voice in the shadows said: + +“He is crying, the poor little fellow.” + +It was Annouchka’s voice. + +Rouletabille dried his tears and said: + +“Messieurs, one of you must have a mother.” + +But all the voices cried: + +“No, no, we have mothers no more!” + +“They have killed them,” cried some. “They have sent them to Siberia,” + cried others. + +“Well, I have a mother still,” said the poor lad. “I will not have the +opportunity to embrace her. It is a mother that I lost the day of my +birth and that I have found again, but--I suppose it is to be said--on +the day of my death. I shall not see her again. I have a friend; I shall +not see him again either. I have two little ikons here for them, and I +am going to write a letter to each of them, if you will permit it. Swear +to me that you will see these reach them.” + +“I swear it,” said, in French, the voice of Annouchka. + +“Thanks, madame, you are kind. And now, messieurs, that is all I ask of +you. I know I am here to reply to very grave accusations. Permit me +to say to you at once that I admit them all to be well founded. +Consequently, there need be no discussion between us. I have deserved +death and I accept it. So permit me not to concern myself with what will +be going on here. I ask of you simply, as a last favor, not to hasten +your preparations too much, so that I may be able to finish my letters.” + +Upon which, satisfied with himself this time, he sat down again and +commenced to write rapidly. They left him in peace, as he desired. He +did not raise his head once, even at the moment when a murmur louder +than usual showed that the hearers regarded Rouletabille’s crimes with +especial detestation. He had the happiness of having entirely completed +his correspondence when they asked him to rise to hear judgment +pronounced upon him. The supreme communion that he had just had with his +friend Sainclair and with the dear Lady in Black restored all his spirit +to him. He listened respectfully to the sentence which condemned him to +death, though he was busy sliding his tongue along the gummed edge of +his envelope. + +These were the counts on which he was to be hanged: + + 1. Because he had come to Russia and mixed in affairs that did not + concern his nationality, and had done this in spite of warning + to remain in France. + + 2. Because he had not kept the promises of neutrality he freely + made to a representative of the Central Revolutionary Committee. + + 3. For trying to penetrate the mystery of the Trebassof datcha. + + 4. For having Comrade Matiew whipped and imprisoned by Koupriane. + + 5. For having denounced to Koupriane the identity of the two + “doctors” who had been assigned to kill General Trebassof. + + 6. For having caused the arrest of Natacha Feodorovna. + +It was a list longer than was needed for his doom. Rouletabille kissed +his ikons and handed them to Annouchka along with the letters. Then +he declared, with his lips trembling slightly, and a cold sweat on his +forehead, that he was ready to submit to his fate. + + + + + +XVII. THE LAST CRAVAT + +The gentleman of the Neva said to him: “If you have nothing further to +say, we will go into the courtyard.” + +Rouletabille understood at last that hanging him in the room where +judgment had been pronounced was rendered impossible by the violence of +the prisoner just executed. Not only the rope and the ring-bolt had been +torn away, but part of the beam had splintered. + +“There is nothing more,” replied Rouletabille. + +He was mistaken. Something occurred to him, an idea flashed so suddenly +that he became white as his shirt, and had to lean on the arm of the +gentleman of the Neva in order to accompany him. + +The door was open. All the men who had voted his death filed out in +gloomy silence. The gentleman of the Neva, who seemed charged with the +last offices for the prisoner, pushed him gently out into the court. + +It was vast, and surrounded by a high board wall; some small buildings, +with closed doors, stood to right and left. A high chimney, partially +demolished, rose from one corner. Rouletabille decided the whole place +was part of some old abandoned mill. Above his head the sky was pale as +a winding sheet. A thunderous, intermittent, rhythmical noise appraised +him that he could not be far from the sea. + +He had plenty of time to note all these things, for they had stopped +the march to execution a moment and had made him sit down in the open +courtyard on an old box. A few steps away from him under the shed where +he certainly was going to be hanged, a man got upon a stool (the stool +that would serve Rouletabille a few moments later) with his arm raised, +and drove with a few blows of a mallet a great ring-bolt into a beam +above his head. + +The reporter’s eyes, which had not lost their habit of taking everything +in, rested again on a coarse canvas sack that lay on the ground. The +young man felt a slight tremor, for he saw quickly that the sack swathed +a human form. He turned his head away, but only to confront another +empty sack that was intended for him. Then he closed his eyes. The sound +of music came from somewhere outside, notes of the balalaika. He said to +himself, “Well, we certainly are in Finland”; for he knew that, if the +guzla is Russian the balalaika certainly is Finnish. It is a kind of +accordeon that the peasants pick plaintively in the doorways of their +toubas. He had seen and heard them the afternoon that he went to +Pergalovo, and also a little further away, on the Viborg line. He +pictured to himself the ruined structure where he now found himself shut +in with the revolutionary tribunal, as it must appear from the outside +to passers-by; unsinister, like many others near it, sheltering under +its decaying roof a few homes of humble workers, resting now as they +played the balalaika at their thresholds, with the day’s labor over. + +And suddenly from the ineffable peace of his last evening, while the +balalaika mourned and the man overhead tested the solidity of his +ring-bolt, a voice outside, the grave, deep voice of Annouchka, sang for +the little Frenchman: + + “For whom weave we now the crown + Of lilac, rose and thyme? + When my hand falls lingering down + Who then will bring your crown + Of lilac, rose and thyme? + + O that someone among you would hear, + And come, and my lonely hand + Would press, and shed the friendly tear-- + For alone at the end I stand. + + Who now will bring the crown + Of lilac, rose and thyme?” + +Rouletabille listened to the voice dying away with the last sob of the +balalaika. “It is too sad,” he said, rising. “Let us go,” and he wavered +a little. + +They came to search him. All was ready above. They pushed him gently +towards the shed. When he was under the ring-bolt, near the stool, they +made him turn round and they read him something in Russian, doubtless +less for him than for those there who did not understand French. +Rouletabille had hard work to hold himself erect. + +The gentleman of the Neva said to him further: + +“Monsieur, we now read you the final formula. It asks you to say +whether, before you die, you have anything you wish to add to what we +know concerning the sentence which has been passed upon you.” + +Rouletabille thought that his saliva, which at that moment he had the +greatest difficulty in swallowing, would not permit him to utter a word. +But disdain of such a weakness, when he recalled the coolness of so many +illustrious condemned people in their last moments, brought him the last +strength needed to maintain his reputation. + +“Why,” said he, “this sentence is not wrongly drawn up. I blame it +only for being too short. Why has there been no mention of the crime I +committed in contriving the tragic death of poor Michael Korsakoff?” + +“Michael Korsakoff was a wretch,” pronounced the vindictive voice of the +young man who had presided at the trial and who, at this supreme moment, +happened to be face to face with Rouletabille. “Koupriane’s police, by +killing that man, ridded us of a traitor.” + +Rouletabille uttered a cry, a cry of joy, and while he had some reason +for believing that at the point he had reached now of his too-short +career only misfortune could befall him, yet here Providence, in his +infinite grace, sent him before he died this ineffable consolation: the +certainty that he had not been mistaken. + +“Pardon, pardon,” he murmured, in an excess of joy which stifled him +almost as much as the wretched rope would shortly do that they were +getting ready behind him. “Pardon. One second yet, one little second. +Then, messieurs, then, we are agreed in that, are we? This Michael, +Michael Nikolaievitch was the the last of traitors.” + +“The first,” said the heavy voice. + +“It is the same thing, my dear monsieur. A traitor, a wretched traitor,” + continued Rouletabille. + +“A poisoner,” replied the voice. + +“A vulgar poisoner! Is that not so? But, tell me how--a vulgar poisoner +who, under cover of Nihilism, worked for his own petty ends, worked for +himself and betrayed you all!” + +Now Rouletabille’s voice rose like a fanfare. Someone said: + +“He did not deceive us long; our enemies themselves undertook his +punishment.” + +“It was I,” cried Rouletabille, radiant again. “It was I who wound up +that career. I tell you that was managed right. It was I who rid you of +him. Ah, I knew well enough, messieurs, in the bottom of my heart I knew +that I could not be mistaken. Two and two make four always, don’t they? +And Rouletabille is always Rouletabille. Messieurs, it is all right, +after all.” + +But it was probable that it was also all wrong, for the gentleman of the +Neva came up to him hat in hand and said: + +“Monsieur, you know now why the witnesses at your trial did not raise a +fact against you that, on the contrary, was entirely in your favor. +Now it only remains for us to execute the sentence which is entirely +justified on other grounds.” + +“Ah, but--wait a little. What the devil! Now that I am sure I have not +been mistaken and that I have been myself, Rouletabille, all the time I +cling to life a little--oh, very much!” + +A hostile murmur showed the condemned man that the patience of his +judges was getting near its limit. + +“Monsieur,” interposed the president, “we know that you do not belong to +the orthodox religion; nevertheless, we will bring a priest if you wish +it.” + +“Yes, yes, that is it, go for the priest,” cried Rouletabille. + +And he said to himself, “It is so much time gained.” + +One of the revolutionaries started over to a little cabin that had been +transformed into a chapel, while the rest of them looked at the reporter +with a good deal less sympathy than they had been showing. If his +bravado had impressed them agreeably in the trial room, they were +beginning to be rather disgusted by his cries, his protestations and all +the maneuvers by which he so apparently was trying to hold off the hour +of his death. + +But all at once Rouletabille jumped up onto the fatal stool. They +believed he had decided finally to make an end of the comedy and die +with dignity; but he had mounted there only to give them a discourse. + +“Messieurs, understand me now. If it is true that you are not +suppressing me in order to avenge Michael Nikolaievitch, then why do you +hang me? Why do you inflict this odious punishment on me? Because you +accuse me of causing Natacha Feodorovna’s arrest? Truly I have been +awkward. Of that, and that alone, I accuse myself.” + +“It was you, with your revolver, who gave the signal to Koupriane’s +agents! You have done the dirty work for the police.” + +Rouletabille tried vainly to protest, to explain, to say that his +revolver shot, on the contrary, had saved the revolutionaries. But no +one cared to listen and no one believed him. + +“Here is the priest, monsieur,” said the gentleman of the Neva. + +“One second! These are my last words, and I swear to you that after this +I will pass the rope about my neck myself! But listen to me! Listen to +me closely! Natacha Feodorovna was the most precious recruit you had, +was she not?” + +“A veritable treasure,” declared the president, his voice more and more +impatient. + +“It was a terrible blow, then,” continued the reporter, “a terrible blow +for you, this arrest?” + +“Terrible,” some of them ejaculated. + +“Do not interrupt me! Very well, then, I am going to say this to you: +‘If I ward off this blow--if, after having been the unintentional cause +of Natacha’s arrest, I have the daughter of General Trebassof set at +liberty, and that within twenty-four hours,--what do you say? Would you +still hang me?’” + +The president, he who had the Christ-like countenance, said: + +“Messieurs, Natacha Feodorovna has fallen the victim of terrible +machinations whose mystery we so far have not been able to penetrate. +She is accused of trying to poison her father and her step-mother, +and under such conditions that it seems impossible for human reason to +demonstrate the contrary. Natacha Feodorovna herself, crushed by the +tragic occurrence, was not able to answer her accusers at all, and her +silence has been taken for a confession of guilt. Messieurs, Natacha +Feodorovna will be started for Siberia to-morrow. We can do nothing for +her. Natacha Feodorovna is lost to us.” + +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, monsieur, 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: + +“I have found it!” + +Such joy shone in his countenance that there seemed to be an aureole +around him, and none of those there doubted that he had the solution of +the impossible problem. + +“I have found it! I have found it!” + +They gathered around him. He waved them away as in a waking dream. + +“Give me room. I have found it, if my experiment works out. One, two, +three, four, five...” + +What was he doing? He counted his steps now, in long paces, as in +dueling preliminaries. And the others, all of them, followed him in +silence, puzzled, but without protest, as if they, too, were caught in +the same strange day-dream. Steadily counting his steps he crossed +thus the court, which was vast. “Forty, forty-one, forty-two,” he cried +excitedly. “This is certainly strange, and very promising.” + +The others, although they did not understand, refrained from questioning +him, for they saw there was nothing to do but let him go ahead without +interruption, just as care is taken not to wake a somnambulist abruptly. +They had no mistrust of his motives, for the idea was simply untenable +that Rouletabille was fool enough to hope to save himself from them by +an imbecile subterfuge. No, they yielded to the impression his +inspired countenance gave them, and several were so affected that they +unconsciously repeated his gestures. Thus Rouletabille reached the edge +of the court where judgment had been pronounced against him. There he +had to mount a rickety flight of stairs, whose steps he counted. He +reached a corridor, but moving away from the side where the door was +opening to the exterior he turned toward a staircase leading to the +upper floor, and still counted the steps as he climbed them. Some of the +company followed him, others hurried ahead of him. But he did not seem +aware of either the one or the other, as he walked along living only +in his thoughts. He reached the landing-place, hesitated, pushed open a +door, and found himself in a room furnished with a table, two chairs, +a mattress and a huge cupboard. He went to the cupboard, turned the key +and opened it. The cupboard was empty. He closed it again and put the +key in his pocket. Then he went out onto the landing-place again. There +he asked for the key of the chamber-door he had just left. They gave it +to him and he locked that door and put that key also in his pocket. Now +he returned into the court. He asked for a chair. It was brought him. +Immediately he placed his head in his hands, thinking hard, took the +chair and carried it over a little behind the shed. The Nihilists +watched everything he did and they did not smile, because men do not +smile when death waits at the end of things, however foolish. + +Finally, Rouletabille spoke: + +“Messieurs,” said he, his voice low and shaken, because he knew that +now he touched the decisive minute, after which there could only be an +irrevocable fate. “Messieurs, in order to continue my experiment I am +obliged to go through movements that might suggest to you the idea of an +attempt at escape, or evasion. I hope you don’t regard me as fool enough +to have any such thought.” + +“Oh, monsieur,” said the chief, “you are free to go through all the +maneuvers you wish. No one escapes us. Outside we should have you +within arm’s reach quite as well as here. And, besides, it is entirely +impossible to escape from here.” + +“Very well. Then that is understood. In such a case, I ask you now to +remain just where you are and not to budge, whatever I do, if you don’t +wish to inconvenience me. Only please send someone now up to the next +floor, where I am going to go again, and let him watch what happens from +there, but without interfering. And don’t speak a word to me during the +experiment.” + +Two of the revolutionaries went to the upper floor, and opened a window +in order to keep track of what went on in the court. All now showed +their intense interest in the acts and gestures of Rouletabille. + +The reporter placed himself in the shed, between his death-stool and his +hanging-rope. + +“Ready,” said he; “I am going to begin” + +And suddenly he jumped like a wild man, crossed the court in a straight +line like a flash, disappeared in the touba, bounded up the staircase, +felt in his pocket and drew out the keys, opened the door of the chamber +he had locked, closed it and locked it again, turned right-about-face, +came down again in the same haste, reached the court, and this time +swerved to the chair, went round it, still running, and returned at the +same speed to the shed. He no sooner reached there than he uttered a cry +of triumph as he glanced at the watch banging from a post. “I have won,” + he said, and threw himself with a happy thrill upon the fatal scaffold. +They surrounded him, and he read the liveliest curiosity in all their +faces. Panting still from his mad rush, he asked for two words apart +with the chief of the Secret committee. + +The man who had pronounced judgment and who had the bearing of Jesus +advanced, and there was a brief exchange of words between the two +young men. The others drew back and waited at a distance, in impressive +silence, the outcome of this mysterious colloquy, which certainly would +settle Rouletabille’s fate. + +“Messieurs,” said the chief, “the young Frenchman is going to be allowed +to leave. We give him twenty-four hours to set Natacha Feodorovna free. +In twenty-four hours, if he has not succeeded, he will return here to +give himself up.” + +A happy murmur greeted these words. The moment their chief spoke thus, +they felt sure of Natacha’s fate. + +The chief added: + +“As the liberation of Natacha Feodorovna will be followed, the young +Frenchman says, by that of our companion Matiew, we decide that, if +these two conditions are fulfilled, M. Joseph Rouletabille is allowed to +return in entire security to France, which he ought never to have left.” + +Two or three only of the group said, “That lad is playing with us; it is +not possible.” + +But the chief declared: + +“Let the lad try. He accomplishes miracles.” + + + + + +XIX. THE TSAR + +“I have escaped by remarkable luck,” cried Rouletabille, as he found +himself, in the middle of the night, at the corner of the Katharine and +the Aptiekarski Pereoulok Canals, while the mysterious carriage which +had brought him there returned rapidly toward the Grande Ecurie. “What a +country! What a country!” + +He ran a little way to the Grand Morskaia, which was near, entered the +hotel like a bomb, dragged the interpreter from his bed, demanded that +his bill be made out and that he be told the time of the next train for +Tsarskoie-Coelo. The interpreter told him that he could not have his +bill at such an hour, that he could not leave town without his passport +and that there was no train for Tsarskoie-Coelo, and Rouletabille made +an outcry that woke the whole hotel. The guests, fearing always “une +scandale,” kept close to their rooms. But Monsieur le directeur came +down, trembling. When he found all that it was about he was inclined to +be peremptory, but Rouletabille, who had seen “Michael Strogoff” played, +cried, “Service of the Tsar!” which turned him submissive as a sheep. He +made out the young man’s bill and gave him his passport, which had been +brought back by the police during the afternoon. Rouletabille rapidly +wrote a message to Koupriane’s address, which the messenger was directed +to have delivered without a moment’s delay, under the pain of death! The +manager humbly promised and the reporter did not explain that by “pain +of death” he referred to his own. Then, having ascertained that as a +matter of fact the last train had left for Tsarskoie-Coelo, he ordered a +carriage and hurried to his room to pack. + +And he, ordinarily so detailed, so particular in his affairs, threw +things every which way, linen, garments, with kicks and shoves. It was +a relief after the emotions he had gone through. “What a country!” he +never ceased to ejaculate. “What a country!” + +Then the carriage was ready, with two little Finnish horses, whose gait +he knew well, an evil-looking driver, who none the less would get him +there; the trunk; roubles to the domestics. “Spacibo, barine. Spacibo.” + (Thank you, monsieur. Thank you.) + +The interpreter asked what address he should give the driver. + +“The home of the Tsar.” + +The interpreter hesitated, believing it to be an unbecoming pleasantry, +then waved vaguely to the driver, and the horses started. + +“What a curious trot! We have no idea of that in France,” thought +Rouletabille. “France! France! Paris! Is it possible that soon I shall +be back! And that dear Lady in Black! Ah, at the first opportunity I +must send her a dispatch of my return--before she receives those ikons, +and the letters announcing my death. Scan! Scan! Scan! (Hurry!)” + +The isvotchick pounded his horses, crowding past the dvornicks who +watched at the corners of the houses during the St. Petersburg night. +“Dirigi! dirigi! dirigi! (Look out!)” + +The country, somber in the somber night. The vast open country. What +monotonous desolation! Rapidly, through the vast silent spaces, the +little car glided over the lonely route into the black arms of the +pines. + +Rouletabille, holding on to his seat, looked about him. + +“God! this is as sad as a funeral display.” + +Little frozen huts, no larger than tombs, occasionally indicated the +road, but there was no mark of life in that country except the noise of +the journey and the two beasts with steaming coats. + +Crack! One of the shafts broken. “What a country!” To hear Rouletabille +one would suppose that only in Russia could the shaft of a carriage +break. + +The repair was difficult and crude, with bits of rope. And from then +on the journey was slow and cautious after the frenzied speed. In vain +Rouletabille reasoned with himself. “You will arrive anyway before +morning. You cannot wake the Emperor in the dead of night.” His +impatience knew no reason. “What a country! What a country!” + +After some other petty adventures (they ran into a ravine and +had tremendous difficulty rescuing the trunk) they arrived at +Tsarskoie-Coelo at a quarter of seven. + +Even here the country was not pleasant. Rouletabille recalled the bright +awakening of French country. Here it seemed there was something more +dead than death: it was this little city with its streets where no one +passed, not a soul, not a phantom, with its houses so impenetrable, +the windows even of glazed glass and further blinded by the morning +hoar-frost shutting out light more thoroughly than closed eyelids. +Behind them he pictured to himself a world unknown, a world which +neither spoke nor wept, nor laughed, a world in which no living chord +resounded. “What a country! ‘Where is the chateau? I do not know; I have +been here only once, in the marshal’s carriage. I do not know the way. +Not the great palace! The idiot of a driver has brought me to this great +palace in order to see it, I haven’t a doubt. Does Rouletabille look +like a tourist? Dourak! The home of the Tsar, I tell you. The Tsar’s +residence. The place where the Little Father lives. Chez Batouchka!” + +The driver lashed his ponies. He drove past all the streets. “Stoi! +(Stop!)” cried Rouletabille. A gate, a soldier, musket at shoulder, +bayonet in play; another gate, another soldier, another bayonet; a park +with walls around it, and around the walls more soldiers. + +“No mistake; here is the place,” thought Rouletabille. There was only +one prisoner for whom such pains would be taken. He advanced towards the +gate. Ah! They crossed bayonets under his nose. Halt! No fooling, Joseph +Rouletabille, of “L’Epoque.” A subaltern came from a guard-house and +advanced toward him. Explanation evidently was going to be difficult. +The young man saw that if he demanded to see the Tsar, they would think +him crazed and that would further complicate matters. He asked for the +Grand-Marshal of the Court. They replied that he could get the Marshal’s +address in Tsarskoie. But the subaltern turned his head. He saw someone +advancing. It was the Grand-Marshal himself. Some exceptional service +called him, without doubt, very early to the Court. + +“Why, what are you doing here? You are not yet gone then, Monsieur +Rouletabille?” + +“Politeness before everything, Monsieur le Grand-Marechal! I would not +go before saying ‘Au revoir’ to the Emperor. Be so good, since you are +going to him and he has risen (you yourself have told me he rises at +seven), be so good as to say to him that I wish to pay my respects +before leaving.” + +“Your scheme, doubtless, is to speak to him once more regarding Natacha +Feodorovna?” + +“Not at all. Tell him, Excellency, that I am come to explain the mystery +of the eider downs.” + +“Ah, ah, the eider downs! You know something?” + +“I know all.” + +The Grand Marshal saw that the young man did not pretend. He asked him +to wait a few minutes, and vanished into the park. + +A quarter of an hour later, Joseph Rouletabille, of the journal +“L’Epoque,” was admitted into the cabinet that he knew well from the +first interview he had had there with His Majesty. The simple work-room +of a country-house: a few pictures on the walls, portraits of the +Tsarina and the imperial children on the table; Oriental cigarettes in +the tiny gold cups. Rouletabille was far from feeling any assurance, for +the Grand-Marshal had said to him: + +“Be cautious. The Emperor is in a terrible humor about you.” + +A door opened and closed. The Tsar made a sign to the Marshal, who +disappeared. Rouletabille bowed low, then watched the Emperor closely. + +Quite apparently His Majesty was displeased. The face of the Tsar, +ordinarily so calm, so pleasant, and smiling, was severe, and his eyes +had an angry light. He seated himself and lighted a cigarette. + +“Monsieur,” he commenced, “I am not otherwise sorry to see you before +your departure in order to say to you myself that I am not at all +pleased with you. If you were one of my subjects I would have already +started you on the road to the Ural Mountains.” + +“I remove myself farther, Sire.” + +“Monsieur, I pray you not to interrupt me and not to speak unless I ask +you a question.” + +“Oh, pardon, Sire, pardon.” + +“I am not duped by the pretext you have offered Monsieur le +Grand-Marechal in order to penetrate here.” + +“It is not a pretext, Sire.” + +“Again!” + +“Oh, pardon, Sire, pardon.” + +“I say to you that, called here to aid me against my enemies, they +themselves have not found a stronger or more criminal support than in +you.” + +“Of what am I accused, Sire?” + +“Koupriane--” + +“Ah! Ah! ... Pardon!” + +“My Chief of Police justly complains that you have traversed all his +designs and that you have taken it upon yourself to ruin them. First, +you removed his agents, who inconvenienced you, it seems; then, the +moment that he had the proof in hand of the abominable alliance of +Natacha Feodorovna with the Nihilists who attempt the assassination of +her father your intervention has permitted that proof to escape him. And +you have boasted of the feat, monsieur, so that we can only consider you +responsible for the attempts that followed. + +“Without you, Natacha would not have attempted to poison her father. +Without you, they would not have sent to find physicians who could blow +up the datcha des Iles. Finally, no later than yesterday, when this +faithful servant of mine had set a trap they could not have escaped +from, you have had the audacity, you, to warn them of it. They owe their +escape to you. Monsieur, those are attempts against the security of the +State which deserves the heaviest punishment. Why, you went out one day +from here promising me to save General Trebassof from all the plotting +assassins who lurked about him. And then you play the game of the +assassins! Your conduct is as miserable as that of Natacha Feodorovna is +monstrous!” + +The Emperor ceased, and looked at Rouletabille, who had not lowered his +eyes. + +“What can you say for yourself? Speak--now.” + +“I can only say to Your Majesty that I come to take leave of you because +my task here is finished. I have promised you the life of General +Trebassof, and I bring it to you. He runs no danger any more! I say +further to Your Majesty that there exists nowhere in the world a +daughter more devoted to her father, even to the death, a daughter more +sublime than Natacha Feodorovna, nor more innocent.” + +“Be careful, monsieur. I inform you that I have studied this affair +personally and very closely. You have the proofs of these statements you +advance?” + +“Yes, Sire.” + +“And I, I have the proofs that Natacha Feodorovna is a renegade.” + +At this contradiction, uttered in a firm voice, the Emperor stirred, +a flush of anger and of outraged majesty in his face. But, after this +first movement, he succeeded in controlling himself, opened a drawer +brusquely, took out some papers and threw them on the table. + +“Here they are.” + +Rouletabille reached for the papers. + +“You do not read Russian, monsieur. I will translate their purport for +you. Know, then, that there has been a mysterious exchange of letters +between Natacha Feodorovna and the Central Revolutionary Committee, +and that these letters show the daughter of General Trebassof to be in +perfect accord with the assassins of her father for the execution of +their abominable project.” + +“The death of the general?” + +“Exactly.” + +“I declare to Your Majesty that that is not possible.” + +“Obstinate man! I will read--” + +“Useless, Sire. It is impossible. There may be in them the question of +a project, but I am greatly surprised if these conspirators have been +sufficiently imprudent to write in those letters that they count on +Natacha to poison her father.” + +“That, as a matter of fact, is not written, and you yourself are +responsible for it not being there. It does not follow any the less that +Natacha Feodorovna had an understanding with the Nihilists.” + +“That is correct, Sire.” + +“Ah, you confess that?” + +“I do not confess; I simply affirm that Natacha had an understanding +with the Nihilists.” + +“Who plotted their abominable attacks against the ex-Governor of +Moscow.” + +“Sire, since Natacha had an understanding with the Nihilists, it was not +to kill her father, but to save him. And the project of which you hold +here the proofs, but of whose character you are unaware, is to end the +attacks of which you speak, instantly.” + +“You say that.” + +“I speak the truth, Sire.” + +“Where are the proofs? Show me your papers.” + +“I have none. I have only my word.” + +“That is not sufficient.” + +“It will be sufficient, once you have heard me.” + +“I listen.” + +“Sire, before revealing to you a secret on which depends the life of +General Trebassof, you must permit me some questions. Your Majesty holds +the life of the general very dear?” + +“What has that to do with it?” + +“Pardon. I desire that Your Majesty assure me on that point.” + +“The general has protected my throne. He has saved the Empire from one +of the greatest dangers that it has ever run. If the servant who has +done such a service should be rewarded by death, by the punishment that +the enemies of my people prepare for him in the darkness, I should never +forgive myself. There have been too many martyrs already!” + +“You have replied to me, Sire, in such a way that you make me understand +there is no sacrifice--even to the sacrifice of your amour-propre the +greatest a ruler can suffer--no sacrifice too dear to ransom from death +one of these martyrs.” + +“Ah, ah! These gentlemen lay down conditions to me! Money. Money. They +need money. And at how much do they rate the head of the general?” + +“Sire, that does not touch Your Majesty, and I never will come to offer +you such a bargain. That matter concerns only Natacha Feodorovna, who +has offered her fortune!” + +“Her fortune! But she has nothing.” + +“She will have one at the death of the general. Now she engages to give +it all to the Revolutionary Committee the day the general dies--if he +dies a natural death!” + +The Emperor rose, greatly agitated. + +“To the Revolutionary Party! What do you tell me! The fortune of the +general! Eh, but these are great riches.” + +“Sire, I have told you the secret. You alone should know it and guard it +forever, and I have your sacred word that, when the hour comes, you will +let the prize go where it is promised. If the general ever learns of +such a thing, such a treaty, he would easily arrange that nothing should +remain, and he would denounce his daughter who has saved him, and then +he would promptly be the prey of his enemies and yours, from whom you +wish to save him. I have told the secret not to the Emperor, but to the +representative of God on the Russian earth. I have confessed it to the +priest, who is bound to forget the words uttered only before God. Allow +Natacha Feodorovna her own way, Sire! And her father, your servant, +whose life is so dear to you, is saved. At the natural death of the +general his fortune will go to his daughter, who has disposed of it.” + +Rouletabille stopped a moment to judge of the effect produced. It was +not good. The face of his august listener was more and more in a frown. + +The silence continued, and now the reporter did not dare to break it. He +waited. + +Finally, the Emperor rose and walked forward and backward across the +room, deep in thought. For a moment he stopped at the window and waved +paternally to the little Tsarevitch, who played in the park with the +grand-duchesses. + +Then he returned to Rouletabille and pinched his ear. + +“But, tell me, how have you learned all this? And who then has poisoned +the general and his wife, in the kiosk, if not Natacha?” + +“Natacha is a saint. It is nothing, Sire, that she has been raised in +luxury, and vows herself to misery; but it is sublime that she guards +in her heart the secret of her sacrifice from everyone, and, in spite of +all, because secrecy is necessary and has been required of her. See her +guarding it before her father, who has been brought to believe in the +dishonor of his daughter, and still to be silent when a word would have +proved her innocent; guarding it face to face with her fiance, whom she +loves, and repulses because marriage is forbidden to the girl who is +supposed to be rich and who will be poor; guarding it, above all--and +guarding it still--in the depths of the dungeon, and ready to take the +road to Siberia under the accusation of assassination, because that +ignominy is necessary for the safety of her father. That, Sire--oh, +Sire, do you see!” + +“But you, how have you been able to penetrate into this guarded secret?” + +“By watching her eyes. By observing, when she believed herself alone, +the look of terror and the gleams of love. And, beyond all, by looking +at her when she was looking at her father. Ah, Sire, there were moments +when on her mystic face one could read the wild joy and devotion of the +martyr. Then, by listening and by piecing together scraps of phrases +inconsistent with the idea of treachery, but which immediately acquired +meaning if one thought of the opposite, of sacrifice. Ah, that is it, +Sire! Consider always the alternative motive. What I finally could see +myself, the others, who had a fixed opinion about Natacha, could not +see. And why had they their fixed opinion? Simply because the idea of +compromise with the Nihilists aroused at once the idea of complicity! +For such people it is always the same thing--they never can see but +the one side of the situation. But, nevertheless, the situation had two +sides, as all situations have. The question was simple. The compromise +was certain. But why had Natacha compromised herself with the Nihilists? +Was it necessarily in order to lose her father? Might it not be, on the +contrary, in order to save him? When one has rendezvous with an enemy it +is not necessarily to enter into his game, sometimes it is to disarm +him with an offer. Between these two hypotheses, which I alone took the +trouble to examine, I did not hesitate long, because Natacha’s every +attitude proclaimed her innocence: and her eyes, Sire, in which one +read purity and love, prevailed always with me against all the passing +appearances of disgrace and crime. + +“I saw that Natacha negotiated with them. But what had she to place in +the scales against the life of her father? Nothing--except the fortune +that she would have one day. + +“Some words she spoke about the impossibility of immediate marriage, +about poverty which could always knock at the door of any mansion, +remarks that I was able to overhear between Natacha and Boris Mourazoff, +which to him meant nothing, put me definitely on the right road. And I +was not long in ascertaining that the negotiations in this formidable +affair were taking place in the very house of Trebassof! Pursued without +by the incessant spying of Koupriane, who sought to surprise her +in company with the Nihilists, watched closely, too, by the jealous +supervision of Boris, who was jealous of Michael Nikolaievitch, she +had to seize the only opportunities possible for such negotiations, at +night, in her own home, the sole place where, by the very audacity of +it, she was able to play her part in any security. + +“Michael Nikolaievitch knew Annouchka. There was certainly the point of +departure for the negotiations which that felon-officer, traitor to +all sides, worked at will toward the realization of his own infamous +project. I do not think that Michael ever confided to Natacha that +he was, from the very first, the instrument of the revolutionaries. +Natacha, who sought to get in touch with the revolutionary party, had +to entrust him with a correspondence for Annouchka, following which he +assumed direction of the affair, deceiving the Nihilists, who, in +their absolute penury, following the revolt, had been seduced by the +proposition of General Trebassof’s daughter, and deceiving Natacha, +whom he pretended to love and by whom he believed himself loved. At this +point in the affair Natacha came to understand that it was necessary to +propitiate Michael Nikolaievitch, her indispensable intermediary, and +she managed to do it so well that Boris Mourazoff felt the blackest +jealousy. On his side, Michael came to believe that Natacha would +have no other husband than himself, but he did not propose to marry a +penniless girl! And, fatally, it followed that Natacha, in that infernal +intrigue, negotiated for the life of her father through the agency of a +man who, underhandedly, sought to strike at the general himself, because +the immediate death of her father before the negotiation was completed +would enrich Natacha, who had given Michael so much to hope. That +frightful tragedy, Sire, in which we have lived our most painful hours, +appeared to me, confident of Natacha’s innocence, as absolutely simple +as for the others it seemed complicated. Natacha believed she had in +Michael Nikolaievitch a man who worked for her, but he worked only for +himself. The day that I was convinced of it, Sire, by my examination of +the approach to the balcony, I had a mind to warn Natacha, to go to her +and say, ‘Get rid of that man. He will betray you. If you need an agent, +I am at your service.’ But that day, at Krestowsky, destiny prevented my +rejoining Natacha; and I must attribute it to destiny, which would not +permit the loss of that man. Michael Nikolaievitch, who was a traitor, +was too much in the ‘combination,’ and if he had been rejected he would +have ruined everything. I caused him to disappear! The great misfortune +then was that Natacha, holding me responsible for the death of a man she +believed innocent, never wished to see me again, and, when she did see +me, refused to have any conversation with me because I proposed that I +take Michael’s place for her with the revolutionaries. She would have +nothing to do with me in order to protect her secret. Meantime, the +Nihilists believed they were betrayed by Natacha when they learned of +the death of Michael, and they undertook to avenge him. They seized +Natacha, and bore her off by force. The unhappy girl learned then, that +same evening, of the attack which destroyed the datcha and, happily, +still spared her father. This time she reached a definite understanding +with the revolutionary party. Her bargain was made. I offer you for +proof of it only her attitude when she was arrested, and, even in that +moment, her sublime silence.” + +While Rouletabille urged his view, the Emperor let him talk on and on, +and now his eyes were dim. + +“Is it possible that Natacha has not been the accomplice, in all, of +Michael Nikolaievitch?” he demanded. “It was she who opened her father’s +house to him that night. If she was not his accomplice she would have +mistrusted him, she would have watched him.” + +“Sire, Michael Nikolaievitch was a very clever man. He knew so well how +to play upon Natacha, and Annouchka, in whom she placed all her hope. +It was from Annouchka that she wished to hold the life of her father. It +was the word, the signature of Annouchka that she demanded before giving +her own. The evening Michael Nikolaievitch died, he was charged to bring +her that signature. I know it, myself, because, pretending drunkenness, +I was able to overhear enough of a conversation between Annouchka and +a man whose name I must conceal. Yes, that last evening, Michael +Nikolaievitch, when he entered the datcha, had the signature in his +pocket, but also he carried the weapon or the poison with which he +already had attempted and was resolved to reach the father of her whom +he believed was assuredly to be his wife.” + +“You speak now of a paper, very precious, that I regret not to possess, +monsieur,” said the Tsar coldly, “because that paper alone would have +proved to me the innocence of your protegee.” + +“If you have not it, Sire, you know well that it is because I have +wished you to have it. The corpse had been searched by Katharina, the +little Bohemian, and I, Sire, prevented Koupriane from finding that +signature in Katharina’s possession. In saving the secret I have saved +General Trebassof’s life, who would have preferred to die rather than +accept such an arrangement.” + +The Tsar stopped Rouletabille in his enthusiastic outburst. + +“All that would be very beautiful and perhaps admirable,” said he, more +and more coldly, because he had entirely recovered himself, “if Natacha +had not, herself, with her own hand, poisoned her father and her +step-mother!--always with arsenate of soda.” + +“Oh, some of that had been left in the house,” replied Rouletabille. +“They had not given me all of it for the analysis after the first +attempt. But Natacha is innocent of that, Sire. I swear it to you. As +true as that I have certainly escaped being hanged.” + +“How, hanged?” + +“Oh, it has not amounted to much now, Your Majesty.” + +And Rouletabille recounted his sinister adventure, up to the moment +of his death, or, rather, up to the moment when he had believed he was +going to die. + +The Emperor listened to the young reporter with complete stupefaction. +He murmured, “Poor lad!” then, suddenly: + +“But how have you managed to escape them?” + +“Sire they have given me twenty-four hours for you to set Natacha at +liberty, that is to say, that you restore her to her rights, all her +rights, and she be always the recognized heiress of Trebassof. Do you +understand me, Sire? + +“I will understand you, perhaps, when you have explained to me how +Natacha has not poisoned her father and step-mother.” + +“There are some things so simple, Sire, that one is able to think of +them only with a rope around one’s neck. But let us reason it out. We +have here four persons, two of whom have been poisoned and the other two +with them have not been. Now, it is certain that, of the four persons, +the general has not wished to poison himself, that his wife has not +wished to poison the general, and that, as for me, I have not wished +to poison anybody. That, if we are absolutely sure of it, leaves as the +poisoner only Natacha. That is so certain, so inevitable, that there is +only one case, one alone, where, in such conditions, Natacha would not +be regarded as the poisoner.” + +“I confess that, logically, I do not see,” said the Tsar, “anything +beyond that but more and more of a tangle. What is it?” + +“Logically, the only case would be that where no one had been poisoned, +that is to say, where no one had taken any poison.” + +“But the presence of the poison has been established!” cried the +Emperor. + +“Still, the presence of the poison proves only its presence, not the +crime. Both poison and ipecac were found in the stomach expulsions. From +which a crime has been concluded. What state of affairs was necessary +for there to have been no crime? Simply that the poison should have +appeared in the expulsions after the ipecac. Then there would have been +no poisoning, but everyone would believe there had been. And, for that, +someone would have poured the poison into the expulsions.” + +The Tsar never quitted Rouletabille’s eyes. + +“That is extraordinary,” said he. “But of course it is possible. In any +case, it is still only an hypothesis. + +“And so long as it could be an hypothesis that no one thought of, it +could be just that, Sire. But if I am here, it is because I have the +proof that that hypothesis corresponds to the reality. That necessary +proof of Natacha’s innocence, Your Majesty, I have found with the +rope around my neck. Ah, I tell you it was time! What has hindered +us hitherto, I do not say to realize, but even to think, of that +hypothesis? Simply that we thought the illness of the general had +commenced before the absorption of the ipecac, since Matrena Petrovna +had been obliged to go for it to her medicine-closet after his illness +commenced, in order to counteract the poison of which she also appeared +to be the victim. + +“But, if I acquire proof that Matrena Petrovna had the ipecac at +hand before the sickness, my hypothesis of pretense at poisoning has +irresistible force. Because, if it was not to use it before, why did she +have it with her before? And if it was not that she wished to hide the +fact that she had used it before, why did she wish to make believe that +she went to find it afterwards? + +“Then, in order to show Natacha’s innocence, here is what must be +proved: that Matrena Petrovna had the ipecac on her, even when she went +to look for it.” + +“Young Rouletabille, I hardly breathe,” said the Tsar. + +“Breathe, Sire. The proof is here. Matrena Petrovna necessarily had the +ipecac on her, because after the sickness she had not the time for going +to find it. Do you understand, Sire? Between the moment when she fled +from the kiosk and when she returned there, she had not the actual time +to go to her medicine-closet to find the ipecac.” + +“How have you been able to compute the time?” asked the Emperor. + +“Sire, the Lord God directed, Who made me admire Feodor Feodorovitch’s +watch just when we went to read, and to read on the dial of that watch +two minutes to the hour, and the Lord God directed yet, Who, after the +scene of the poison, at the time Matrena returned carrying the ipecac +publicly, made the hour strike from that watch in the general’s pocket. + +“Two minutes. It was impossible for Matrena to have covered that +distance in two minutes. She could only have entered the deserted datcha +and left it again instantly. She had not taken the trouble to mount to +the floor above, where, she told us and repeated when she returned, the +ipecac was in the medicine-closet. She lied! And if she lied, all is +explained. + +“It was the striking of a watch, Sire, with a striking apparatus and a +sound like the general’s, there in the quarters of the revolutionaries, +that roused my memory and indicated to me in a second this argument of +the time. + +“I got down from my gallows-scaffold, Your Majesty, to experiment on +that time-limit. Oh, nothing and nobody could have prevented my making +that experiment before I died, to prove to myself that Rouletabille had +all along been right. I had studied the grounds around the datcha enough +to be perfectly exact about the distances. I found in the court where I +was to be hanged the same number of steps that there were from the +kiosk to the steps of the veranda, and, as the staircase of the +revolutionaries had fewer steps, I lengthened my journey a few steps by +walking around a chair. Finally, I attended to the opening and closing +of the doors that Matrena would have had to do. I had looked at a watch +when I started. When I returned, Sire, and looked at the watch again, I +had taken three minutes to cover the distance--and it is not for me to +boast, but I am a little livelier than the excellent Matrena. + +“Matrena had lied. Matrena had simulated the poisoning of the general. +Matrena had coolly poured ipecac in the general’s glass while we were +illustrating with matches a curious-enough theory of the nature of the +constitution of the empire.” + +“But this is abominable!” cried the Emperor, this time definitely +convinced by the intricate argument of Rouletabille. “And what end could +this imitation serve?’” + +“The end of preventing the real crime! The end that she believed herself +to have attained, Sire, to have Natacha removed forever--Natacha whom +she believed capable of any crime.” + +“Oh, it is monstrous! Feodor Feodorovitch has often told me that Matrena +loved Natacha sincerely.” + +“She loved her sincerely up to the day that she believed her +guilty. Matrena Petrovna was sure of Natacha’s complicity in Michael +Nikolaievitch’s attempt to poison the general. I shared her stupor, her +despair, when Feodor Feodorovitch took his daughter in his arms after +that tragic night, and embraced her. He seemed to absolve her. It was +then that Matrena resolved within herself to save the general in spite +of himself, but I remain persuaded that, if she had dared such a plan +against Natacha, it would only be because of what she believed definite +proof of her step-daughter’s infamy. These papers, Sire, that you have +shown me, and which show, if nothing more, an understanding between +Natacha and the revolutionaries, could only have been in the possession +of Michael or of Natacha. Nothing was found in Michael’s quarters. Tell +me, then, that Matrena found them in Natacha’s apartment. Then, she did +not hesitate!” + +“If one outlined her crime to her, do you believe she would confess it?” +asked the Emperor. + +“I am so sure of it that I have had her brought here. By now Koupriane +should be here at the chateau, with Matrena Petrovna.” + +“You think of everything, monsieur.” + +The Tsar moved to ring a bell. Rouletabille raised his hand. + +“Not yet, Sire. I ask that you permit me not to be present at the +confusion of that brave, heroic, good woman who has loved me much. But +before I go, Sire--do you promise me?” + +The Emperor believed he had not heard correctly or did not grasp the +meaning. He repeated what Rouletabille had said. The young reporter +repeated it once more: + +“Do you promise? No, Sire, I am not mad. I dare to ask you that. I have +confided my honor to Your Majesty. I have told you Natacha’s secret. +Well, now, before Matrena’s confession, I dare to ask you: Promise me +to forget that secret. It will not suffice merely to give Natacha back +again to her father. It is necessary to leave her course open to her--if +you really wish to save General Trebassof. What do you decide, Sire?” + +“It is the first time anyone has questioned me, monsieur.” + +“Ah, well, it will be the last. But I humbly beg Your Majesty to reply.” + +“That would be many millions given to the Revolution.” + +“Oh, Sire, they are not given yet. The general is sixty-five, but he has +many years ahead of him, if you wish it. By the time he dies--a natural +death, if you wish it--your enemies will have disarmed.” + +“My enemies!” murmured the Tsar in a low voice. “No, no; my enemies +never will disarm. Who, then, will be able to disarm them?” added he, +melancholily, shaking his head. + +“Progress, Sire! If you wish it.” + +The Tsar turned red and looked at the audacious young man, who met the +gaze of His Majesty frankly. + +“It is kind of you to say that, my young friend. But you speak as a +child.” + +“As a child of France to the Father of the Russian people.” + +It was said in a voice so solemn and, at the same time, so naively +touching, that the Tsar started. He gazed again for some time in silence +at this boy who, this time, turned away his brimming eyes. + +“Progress and pity, Sire.” + +“Well,” said the Emperor, “it is promised.” + +Rouletabille was not able to restrain a joyous movement hardly in +keeping. + +“You can ring now, Sire.” + +And the Tsar rang. + +The reporter passed into a little salon, where he found the Marshal, +Koupriane and Matrena Petrovna, who was “in a state.” + +She threw a suspicious glance at Rouletabille, who was not treated this +morning as the dear little domovoi-doukh. She permitted herself to be +conducted, already trembling, before the Emperor. + +“What happened?” asked Koupriane agitatedly. + +“It so happened, my dear Monsieur Koupriane, that I have the pardon of +the Emperor for all the crimes you have charged against me, and that I +wish to shake hands before I go, without any rancor. Monsieur Koupriane, +the Emperor will tell you himself that General Trebassof is saved, +and that his life will never be in danger any more. Do you know what +follows? It follows that you must at once set Matiew free, whom I have +taken, if you remember, under my protection. Tell him that he is going +to make his way in France. I will find him a place on condition that he +forgets certain lashes.” + +“Such a promise! Such an attitude toward me!” cried Koupriane. “But I +will wait for the Emperor to tell me all these fine things. And your +Natacha, what do you do with her?” + +“We release her also, monsieur. Natacha never has been the monster that +you think.” + +“How can you say that? Someone at least is guilty.” + +“There are two guilty. The first, Monsieur le Marechal.” + +“What!” cried the Marshal. + +“Monsieur le Marechal, who had the imprudence to bring such dangerous +grapes to the datcha des Iles, and--and--” + +“And the other?” asked Koupriane, more and more anxiously. + +“Listen there,” said Rouletabille, pointing toward the Emperor’s +cabinet. + +The sound of tears and sobs reached them. The grief and the remorse +of Matrena Petrovna passed the walls of the cabinet. Koupriane was +completely disconcerted. + +Suddenly the Emperor appeared. He was in a state of exaltation such as +had never been known in him. Koupriane, dismayed, drew back. + +“Monsieur,” said the Tsar to him, “I require that Natacha Feodorovna +be here within the next two hours, and that she be conducted with the +honors due to her rank. Natacha is innocent, and we must make reparation +to her.” + +Then, turning toward Rouletabille: + +“I have learned what she knows and what she owes to you--we owe to you, +my young friend.” + +The Tsar said “my young friend.” Rouletabille, at this last moment +before his departure, spoke Russian? + +“Then she knows nothing, Sire. That is better, Sire, because Your +Majesty and me, we must forget right from to-day that we know anything.” + +“You are right,” said the Tsar thoughtfully. “But, my friend, what am I +to do for you?” + +“Sire, one favor. Do not let me miss the train at 10:55.” + +And he threw himself on his knees. + +“Remain on your knees, my friend. You are ready, thus. Monsieur le +Marechal will prepare at once a brevet, which I will immediately sign. +Meantime, Monsieur le Marechal, find me, in my own closet, one of my St. +Anne’s collars.” + +And it was thus that Joseph Rouletabille, of “L’Epoque,” was created +officer of St. Anne of Russia by the Emperor himself, who gave him the +accolade. + +“They combine the whole course of time in this country,” thought +Rouletabille, pressing his hand to his eyes to hold back the tears. + +For the train at 10:55 everybody had crowded at Tsarskoie-Coelo +station. Among those who had come from St. Petersburg to press the young +reporter’s hand when they learned of his impending departure were +Ivan Petrovitch, the jolly Councilor of the Emperor, and Athanase +Georgevitch, the lively advocate so well known for his famous exploits +with knife and fork. They had come naturally with all their bandages and +dressings, which made them look like glorious ruins. They brought the +greetings of Feodor Feodorovitch, who still had a little fever, and of +Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff, the Lithuanian, who had both legs broken. + +Even after he was in his compartment Rouletabille had to drink his last +drink of champagne. When nothing remained in the bottle and everyone +had embraced and re-embraced him, as the train did not start quite yet, +Athanase Georgevitch opened a second “last” bottle. It was then that +Monsieur le Grand Marechal arrived, out of breath. They invited him +to drink, and he accepted. But he had need to speak to Rouletabille in +private, and he drew the reporter, after excuses, out into the corridor. + +“It is the Emperor himself who has sent me,” said the high dignitary +with emotion. “He has sent me about the eider downs. You forgot to +explain the eider downs to him.” + +“Niet!” replied Rouletabille, laughing. “That is nothing. Nitchevo! His +Majesty’s eider downs are of the finest eider, as one of the feathers +that you have shown me demonstrates. Well, open them now. They are a +cheap imitation, as the second feather proves. The return of the +false eider downs, before evening, proves then that they hoped the +substitution would pass undetected. That is all. Caracho! Collapse of +the hoax. Your health! Vive le Tsar!” + +“Caracho! Caracho!” + +The locomotive was puffing when a couple were seen running, a man and a +woman. It was Monsieur and Madame Gounsovski. + +Gounsovski stood on the running-board. + +“Madame Gounsovski has insisted upon shaking hands. You are very +congenial.” + +“Compliments, madame.” + +“Tell me, young man, you did wrong to fail for dinner at my house +yesterday.” + +“I would have certainly escaped a disagreeable little journey into +Finland. I do not regret it, monsieur.” + +The train trembled and moved. They cried, “Vive la France! Vive la +Russe!” Athanase Georgevitch wept. Matrena Petrovna, at a window of the +station, whither she had timidly retired, waved a handkerchief to the +little domovoi-doukh, who had made her see everything in the right +light, and whom she did not dare to embrace after the terrible affair of +the false poison and the Tsar’s anger. + +The reporter threw her a respectful kiss. + +As he said to Gounsovski, there was nothing to be regretted. + +All the same, as the train took its way toward the frontier, +Rouletabille threw himself back on the cushions, and said: + +“Ouf!” + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Secret of the Night, by Gaston Leroux + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT *** + +***** This file should be named 1686-0.txt or 1686-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/8/1686/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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