The Secret of the Night.......................................................................................................................................1

Gaston Leroux ..........................................................................................................................................1

"I told you to show him to Natacha's sittingroom. 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

"Did you explain to him that everybody is searched before being allowed to enter, that it is the order, and that

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 diningroom 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 alwaysamiable 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

"You would have laughed, Feodor Feodorovitch. We had sung songs on the Barque* and then the Bohemians

[*The "Barque" is a restaurant on a boat, among the isles, near the Gulf of Finland, on a bank of the Neva.]

went out onto the riverbank 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

schoolchildren. 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 companionofficers 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 horseshoes 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."

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 guardhouse, 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

"Ivan, you certainly have not had horses served with champagne in pails," the old boaster, Athanase

Georgevitch, protested jealously. He was an advocate, wellknown for his tablefeats, 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

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

stepdaughter Natacha, whose eyes followed her to the door, indifferent apparently to the tender

manifestations of her father's orderly, the soldierpoet, 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 drawingroom and pointed across to a door that he had left open,

Ermolai need have said nothing, for that matter, since Madame Matrena was aware of a stranger's presence in

the sittingroom by the extraordinary attitude of an individual in a maroon frockcoat 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 drawingroom watching what passed in the next room

through the narrow space of light in the hingeway 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 hingevent. 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

watchdog, 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

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,

"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 horsd'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 overhanging cranial lumps which moved above the deep arcade of the eyesockets

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

Madame Matrena smiled and gave him a hearty handshake as she urged him to be seated.

"I come from him, madame. It is to Madame Trebassof that I have the honor of speaking?"

"Joseph Rouletabille, madame. I do not add, 'At your service because I do not know about that yet. That is

"Then?" asked Madame Matrena, rather amused by the tone the conversation had taken and the slightly

"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."

"Oh, yes, that has not been difficult. I expected to arrive direct at St. Petersburg, but at KrasnoieCoelo the

train stopped and the grandmarshal 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

"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."

But Rouletabille, whom nothing escaped, saw her hand tremble on the back of the chair.

"His Majesty added these exact words: 'It is I who ask it of you; I and Madame Trebassof. Go, monsieur, she

"The Chief of Police? Yes. The grandmarshal accompanied me back to the station at KrasnoieCoelo, 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 selfcontrol, "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

"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

A tear fell on the slice she was cutting. Rouletabille, who felt the brave woman's emotion affecting him also,

"I am able to help you a little all the same," he said. "Monsieur Koupriane has told me that there is a deep

"I know what Koupriane thinks," she said, shaking her head. "But if I could bring myself to think that for a

The good Matrena Petrovna lifted her beautiful eyes to Rouletabille, brimming with the tears she held back.

"But eat now, my dear guest; eat. My dear child, you must forget what Koupriane has said to you, when you

"It is the Emperor who has caused you this long journey. For me, I did not wish it. Has he, indeed, so much

"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

"My young friend," said she, in a voice more and more hesitant, "you must excuse me, but it is a long time

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

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

"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

"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 Nihiists warned me

immediately that I would not reach Russia alive. That, finally, was what decided me on coming. I am

"Not badly. I discovered at once in the train a young Slav assigned to kill me, and I reached an understanding

Rouletabille was eating away now at strange viands that it would have been difficult for him to name.

"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 sleepingcar, 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

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

"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 halfhour later the ententecordiale 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

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

"There," said he. "Now, madame, I am listening. Tell me first about the earliest attack."

Madame Matrena smiled. All these strangers were alike. Because they had eaten some horsd'ceuvres, some

zakouskis, they imagined their host would be satisfied. They did not know how to eat.

"We will go to the diningroom. The general is expecting you. They are at table."

"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 ery well indeed, so well that he opens his home to you. Ah, yes, my stepdaughter also

She opened the door of the drawingroom, which they had to cross in order to reach the diningroom.

>From his present position Rouletabille could see all the corners of the drawingroom, the veranda, the

garden and the entrance lodge at the gate. In the veranda the man in the maroon frockcoat trimmed with

false astrakhan seemed still to be asleep on the sofa; in one of the corners of the drawingroom another

individual, silent and motionless as a statue, dressed exactly the same, in a maroon frockcoat 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 sittingroom and closed the

Matrena Petrovna nodded her head and put her finger to her mouth in a naive way, as one would caution a

"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."

She glanced at the door, watching the policeman statuesque before the setting sun.

"So M. Koupriane told me. Then it is you who have arranged for these ten policeagents?"

"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

"But you do not know the admirable police of Koupriane. These brave men have given proof of their

"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?'"

Madame Trebassof walked into the salon and signaled. The man appeared. Rouletabille handed him a paper,

"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 man bowed, appeared not to understand, looked at Madame Trebassof and said to the young man:

"Wait here a moment," urged Madame Trebassof, who did not know how to take this abrupt action and

She disappeared after the man of the false astrakhan. A few moments afterwards she returned. She appeared

"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

"It is true. But they have gone, nevertheless. They had to obey you. What can that paper be you have shown

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

"Is it possible!" murmured Matrena Petrovna. "But Koupriane would never have given you this paper if he

"Evidently. I have not asked him his advice, madame, you may be sure. But I will see him tomorrow and he

Rouletabille took her hands again. He saw her suffering, a prey to anguish almost prostrating. He pitied her.

She saw his young, clear eyes, so deep, so intelligent, the wellformed 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

In the diningroom it was Thaddeus Tchnichnikoff's turn to tell hunting stories. He was the greatest

timbermerchant in Lithuania. He owned immense forests and he loved Feodor Feodorovitch* as a

*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.

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 boarspear, and just in time. Close ties were knit between the two

families by this occurrence, and though Thaddeus was neither nobleborn nor a soldier, Feodor considered

him his brother and felt toward him as such. Now Thaddeus had become the greatest timbermerchant of the

western provinces, with his own forests and also with his massive body, his fat, oily face, his bullneck 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 bearhunting 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 granddukes 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 newgrowth 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

W. 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.

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

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

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

Of course someone asked Rouletabille what he thought of Russia, but he had no more than opened his mouth

"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

"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 fiftyeighth man. But at the fiftyninth 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 fiftyninth, 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.

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

halfconcealed. Her profile was clearcut; 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

"Improvise," said the general. "Improvise in French, for the sake of our guest."

"When the moment comes that parts us at the close of day, when the Angel of Sleep covers you with azure

souls feel harmony sweet and mystical; "And when your thoughts may have flown to other worlds, oh, may

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,

"Yes, yes. Labored well! A glorious soldier!" repeated Athanase Georgevitch and Ivan Petrovitch. "Well may

"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.

"A young girl may wish her father a pleasant sleep, surely!" said Matrena Petrovna, with a certain good

"Yes, she made me weep," declared the general. "But let us have champagne to cheer us up. Our young friend

"Never think that," said Rouletabille. "Mademoiselle has touched me deeply as well. She is an artist, really a

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 stepdaughter, 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, hut 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 widelydifferent 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 bulldog 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 themelves 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 grandsalon and saw the reporter just as he came out of

"The sittingroom is certainly charming, and decorated exquisitely," complimented Rouletabille. "It seems

"It does serve as a boudoir for my stepdaughter, 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

"Is your dog a watchdog, madame?" asked Rouletabille, caressing the beast, which had followed him.

"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

"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

"Come," she added rapidiy, as though to hide her disquiet, "do not go out like that without letting me know.

"In the diningroom, in the diningroom. 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 groundfloor."

She drew Rouletabille into the diningroom, 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

"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 passersby 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

"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

"'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

"'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 ecompensed 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 afterguard. 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 guzia 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

General Trebassof, who had steadily watched Rouletabille, who, for that matter, had been kept in eye by

"You must pardon me for thinking of the things that you seem to have forgotten entirely."

"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!"

"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

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 Nihiists 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,

deathsentence in hand, they haunted him, they upset him. Certainly it had been a piece of foolhardiness to

"Well," he asked, conquering his misgivings and resuming, as always, his confidence in himself, "then, what

"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 twentyfive

"That was exactly the number of wounds that were made on the body of little Jacques Zloriksky," came in the

"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

"None the less, permit me to say," ventured the timbermerchant, Thaddeus Tchnitchnikof, timidly, "permit

"Yes, indeed, very gravely imprudent," agreed Rouletabille. "When a man has had twentyfive 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

"Ah," cried Athanase Georgevitch, in a stagestruck 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

"Certainly," endorsed the general. "Counting all things, they need more heroism for a promenade in a salon

"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

"You yourselves, my friends," declared the general, prove your great courage by coming to share the hours

"Oh, there's no occasion to pat us on the shoulder, Athanase," insisted Thaddeus modestly. "What risk do we

"We are protected by the finger of God," declared Athanase, "because the police well, I haven't any

Michael Korsakoff, who had heen 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."

"An order came from Koupriane to remove them," explained Matrena Petrovna, who exerted herself to

"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

"Oh, well, all the better," said the general. "It will give me pleasure to see my home ridded for a while of such

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 guardpost 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!

They did not insist further. When Feodor had said, "Those are the orders," there was room for nothing more,

But before going to their beds all went into the veranda, where liqueurs were served by the brave Ermolai, as

always. Matrena pushed the wheelchair of the general there, and he kept repeating, "No, no. No more such

"Feodor! Feodor!" sighed Matrena, whose anxiety deepened in spite of all she could do, "they watched over

>From time to time, while Ermolai poured the liqueurs, Feodor struck his band on the coverings over his leg.

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

>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,

Natacha's voice floated out upon the peace of the islands under the dim arched sky, light and clear as a night

"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 rosestained evening I am here alone with you, Respond,

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

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

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

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 groundfloor near the sittingroom, 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

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

Within the villa, now closed, there were on the groundfloor only Matrena herself and her stepdaughter

Natacha, who slept in the chamber off the sittingroom, 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 drawingroom,

her darklantern 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 tonight, tonight 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 armchairs, 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 darklantern 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.

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

domovoidoukh, 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

domovoidoukh 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 domovoidoukh

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, drawnout 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 allfours, and had slipped away without anyone noticing him, while she was

"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 welldone, certainly. You have not forgotten

"But where were you, dear little demon? I have been into all the corners, and my hands did not touch you."

"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 tablecloths. And under the table of zakouskis have you been able to see or

"Madame, do you think that anyone could possibly see or hear anything in the villa when you are watching it

They talked thus very low in the dark, both seated in a corner of the sofa, Rouletabille's hand held tightly in

"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

"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,

"And you, madame do you love your stepdaughter?" brutally inquired the reporter.

"Yes sincerely," replied Matrena Petrovna, withdrawing her hand from those of Rouletabille.

"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 toomodern 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 nexttothelast attack. The general then had the use of both legs. He stamped his feet and

"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

"Don't you understand? It is so that we shall be able to hear the ticktack better."

"For myself, I think I hear the ticktack 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 deathtick 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 ticktack. It is terrible to hear it in my ear any moment when I least expect

it. Ticktack! Ticktack! It is the blood beating in my ear, for instance, hard, as if it struck on a

"Shhh!" And Rouletabille felt the rigid hand of Matrena Petrovna on his arm. "It is the general. The

She drew him into the diningroom, into a corner where they could no longer hear the moanings. But all the

doors that communicated with the diningroom, the drawingroom and the sittingroom remained open

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

"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 ticktack of his watch in his waistcoatpocket. 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 ticktack 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 draughtboards from the fireplaces. By that precaution they were enabled to avoid a terrible

disaster at the Ministry near the Pontdeschantres, you know, petit demovoi? They saw a bomb just as it

was being lowered nto the fireplace 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 draughtboards of the fireplaces are cleared away."

"Madame," interrupted Rouletabille (Matrena Petrovna did not know that no one ever succeeded in

"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 ticktack in my ears.

"One evening when the general had got to sleep and I was in my own room, I heard distinctly the ticktack 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 ticktack. 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 ticktack 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 mantelclock. No, it was not that! It

seemed to me now that the ticktack came from the hed 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 ticktack. Don't you hear the ticktack?' 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 ticktack

was behind us now, on the table. But there was nothing on the table, only the nightlight, 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

ticktack 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

"All the windows of the house were broken. In all, we escaped with the fright and a visit from the glazier, my

"And Mademoiselle Natacha?" inquired Rouletabille. "She must also have been terribly frightened, because

"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 chambermaid, had been on that floor.

In the daytime 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

"Pardon, madame," interrupted Rouletabille, "but the agents, during the examination of everything, never

"No, my child, there is only myself and Natacha, I repeat, who, since the bouquet, go there."

"But he is sleeping, my child. Let me tell you exactly how the affair of the floor happened, and you will know

She took both his hands and pressed them nervously. "Little friend! Little friend! One hears there sometimes

Abruptly she decided to take him there, agitated, upset as she was by ideas and sentiments which held her

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

The tepid warmth, the perfume of a woman's boudoir, then, beyond, through two doors opening upon the

dressingroom which lay between Matrena's chamber and Feodor's, the dim luster of a nightlamp 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 heavyarched 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 timbermerchant and amiable bearhunter, 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 dressingroom, 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 dressingroom when a moan

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

"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

Feodor heaved an immense sigh and his breast descended under the bedclothes, 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

Now the youth of Moscow is dead and no more moanings are heard, Because those for whom all youth died

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

winters, the virgin of Moscow, flower of the snow. Who gave her kisses to the workmen struck by the bullets

eyelids of plank in order not to see! "And the Kremlin itself has closed its gates that it may

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

And then came further delirium uttered in Russian, which was all the more terrible to Rouletabille because he

"It is that abominable narcotic," he said with an immense sigh. "I'll drink no more of it. I do not wish to drink

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

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, "Goodnight. May your

eyes have rest from tears and calm reenter 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 nightlamp 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

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

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 guestchamber where

she urged him to get some sleep. He replied that it was she who needed rest. But, agitated still by what had

"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 aidedecamp 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

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. Goodnight, Natacha." They

heard Natacha's step cross the drawingroom and the sittingroom. Then the door of her chamber closed.

Matrena and Rouletabille descended, holding their breath. They reached the diningroom and Matrena

played her darklantern 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,

"Because there was no doubt that it could only be my stepdaughter on the groundfloor at that hour."

"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, 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

"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 groundfloor. 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 diningroom 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 halfadozen 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

"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?"

"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 groundfloor 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 groundfloor 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 groundfloor perfectly free while I

helped the general to bed, I felt drawn even against myself suddenly to the diningroom. I lifted the carpet

and examined the floor. Three more nails had been drawn from the board, which lifted more easily now, and

When she had said this, Matrena stopped, as if, overcome, she could not tell more.

"Well, I replaced things as I found them and made rapid inquiries of the police and their chief; no one had

entered the groundfloor. You understand me? no one at all. Neither had anyone come out from it."

"I wish to say," said she with a sob, "that Natacha during this space of time had been in her chamber, in her

"You appear to be very disturbed, madame, at this recollection. Can you tell me further, and precisely, why

"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 diningroom but

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

When she was calmed, she looked for Rouletabille, and could not find him. Then she wiped her eyes, picked

"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 sittingroom on the groundfloor) 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

"Friends: Atbanase Georgevitch, Ivan Petrovitch, Thaddeus the timbermerchant (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 groundfloor of Natacha, in case, of course,

Matrena id not pull them out herself. For Natacha: Her eyes when she looks at her father."

"We mustn't be rash. This evening I have not yet spoken to Matrena Petrovna about the little hatpin. That

"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

Matrena talked on to Rouletahille, whom she had found the morning after the nightmare tranquilly smoking

"Ah, ah, you smoke a pipe. Now you do certainly look exactly like a dear little domovoidoukh. 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 guestchamber 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

"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 that

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."

"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 stepdaughter 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

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 muchbeloved mother. She complained again of Matrena's nightwatch.

"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 policeagents and obsesses us all. I am

"Mademoiselle," said Rouletabille, "I have just had them all sent away, all of them because I think very

"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

"Yes, yes; kiss me. Kiss me again!" repeated Matrena, drying her eyes. "When you kiss me I forget

She escaped further parley by jumping up on the garden edge away from Khor, who had just been set free for

"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 governorgeneral, 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

"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 sittingroom. Boris chose it because of that. The orderlies wished to have campbeds

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

Ermolai came to announce the petitdejeuner. 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

"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."

"Yes, yes; he is locked in. You have the key. Locked away until death! You will kill him. It will be you who

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

"Fortyeight hours," said Rouletabille, soaking his bread in his chocolate, "fortyeight hours? It is possible.

"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 bulldogs. 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

"Madame, they are going to try to kill your husband within fortyeight hours. Do you desire me to save him

"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

"Here's the idea," said Rouletabille. "This afternoon you will go with the general in his rollingchair.

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

"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."

"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,

"I will not leave you. But I must not be at luncheon. If anyone asks where I am, say that I have my business

"There's only one political personage in Russia," replied Matrena Petrovna bluntly; "that is the Tsar."

She left him, not knowing what she thought about it all, nor what she should think her head was all in a

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 memorandumbook did not give us a notion; the

reporter had overheard, by accident surely, since all selfrespecting reporters are quite incapable of

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

Boris (goodlooking 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

"What did you do last night after you reached home?" she demanded insistently. "Did you stay up?"

"I obeyed you; I only sat a halfhour 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 halfhour 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 chorusof frogs in the pools of the sland. Our pools, Natacha, are like

the enchanted lakes of the Caucasus which are silent by day and sing at evening; there are innumerabel

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 reechoing like AEolian

"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

"I do not like the way you are managing our lives. Why do you delay our marriage? Why?

"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

"I swear to you, by the dear head of your mother, Boris, that the date of our marriage does not depend on

(Some words in Russian. Boris, a little consoled, holds her hand lingeringly to his lips.)

"I ended at last by making him understand that there is not any hope. None. It is necessary to have patience. I

(Here more Russian.) As Natacha started to leave, Michael placed his hand on her shoulder, stopped her and

"There will be a letter from Annouchka this evening, by a messenger at five o'clock." He made each syllable

After luncheon the gentlemen played poker until halfpast 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

rollingchair 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 fieldflower. 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

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 today I consider you my wife, Matrena Petrovna. You should obey me in all things. Take that reply

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

"So that," concluded Boris, "if the general died tomorrow she would be poorer than Job."

"I can understand her hanging onto him," said Michael Korsakoff, blowing the smoke of his yellow cigarette.

"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,

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 wheelchair and passed by them

with a little nod of the head, seeming in haste to retrace the way back to the villa.

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,

Rouletabille asked the officers, "Was this arrangement because the first wife of the general, Natacha's mother,

"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

"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."

"That doesn't keep Matrena Petrovna and Natacha Feodorovna from deeply loving each other," observed

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 newlycut grass

gave a seasonal fragrance. All was reflected in the pools which lay like glass whereon a scenepainter had

cut the green hearts of the pondlily 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 seagulls, 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

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

Meanwhile the little group about the general's rollingchair had attracted attention. Some passersby 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 bypath, behind a shield of trees where he would be able to enjoy

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, cleareyed. His uniform showed his fine build to advantage. He was

generally liked in St. Petersburg, where his martial bearing and his wellknown 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 playng

into the hands of the Nihilists, whom he disguised as agentsprovocateurs, without anybody really doubting

Wellinformed men declared that the death of the previous "prime mnister," 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.*

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 hotheads, without lowering himself

to the compromises which, more than once, had given grounds for the enemies of the empire to maintain that

it was difilcult 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

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

"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,

Rouletabille listened to the end. No one ever had spoken to him in that tone. He was red, and as ready to burst

"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 Goodevening

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

"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."

Koupriane looked at him. Rouletabille had not quitted Matrena Petrovna's eyes, and her pallor struck

"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."

"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."

"Good Lord, yes, I have discovered something, Monsieur Koupriane. You don't suppose I have come so far to

"Yes, Monsieur Koupriane, otherwise I shouldn't have troubled to feel concerned. Something I have not

confided to anyone, not even to my notehook, because a notebook, you know, a notebook can always be

lost. I just mention that in case you had any idea of having me searched before my departure."

"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 rockingchair, not

"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

"But it is perfectly understood that once I have told you this you will give me my passport and allow me to

"You feel that you couldn't possibly," inquired Koupriane, more and more troubled, and after a moment of

"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

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 insensihly 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:

Having saluted the general and Matrena affectionately, and a group of friends in one courteous sweep, he

During all this time the general, enchanted with the promenade, told stories of the Caucasus to his friends,

believing himself young again and reliving his nights as sublieutenant at Tills. As to Natacha, no one had

seen her. They retraced the way to the villa along deserted bypaths. 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

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.

"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."

"Has anyone else been here?" demanded Matrena, forcing her voice to be calm. Rouletabille saw her hand

tremble on the handle of the rollingchair, which she had not quitted for a second during all the promenade,

"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

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 bad 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

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 drawingroom.

"Madame," he said rapidly, in a low voice, "you must go at once to see what has happened there."

"Because, madame, I have something to do elsewhere. Give me the keys of the next floor."

"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!

He snatched them rather than took them, and pointed a last time to the diningroom with a gesture so

commanding that she did not hesitate further. She entered the diningroom, 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

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

"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 promise you. It is quite possible now that we have our dear little domovoi. You know, Feodor, that he

"He does resemble him, he certainly does," said Feodor. "That makes us feel happy, but I wish him to sleep

"Yes, yes," smiled Rouletabille, "everybody will sleep here. That is the countersign. We have watched

"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 grandmarshal 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 bad 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

"Little domovoi," said she, laying her hand on his shoulder, "you have not watched on this side?"

"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

She embraced him, and then ran away, like one possessed, to resume her post near the general.

Notes in Rouletabille's memorandumbook: 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 stepdaughter. 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 diningroom, 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 hatpin. I believe that the matter is

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

"It is necessary to grant it to me," said the young girl with singular energy. "You understand, Boris

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

"Your stepdaughter 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."

Matrena ran to Natacha's chamber and returned with three enormous hatpins with beautifullycut stones in

"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

"Take these back where you found them," said the reporter, after glancing at them.

"Oh, I have only two, and here they are," said she, drawing them from the toque she had been wearing and

"Ah, well," said she, quite breathless, "you may boast that I had to search for you. I made the entire round,

"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 came for a moment, entered the garden and went away again without seeing us, without saying even

With apparent indifference, she raised her arms and drew out her hatpins. 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

drawingroom and entered her chamber by passing through her little sittingroom, 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 drawingroom, 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 groundfloor and the upper floor. This

passage had also a door giving directly upon the drawingroom. It was certainly a poor arrangement for

serving the diningroom, which was on the other side of the drawingroom and behind the veranda, such a

chance layingout of a house as one often sees in the offhand 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 hatpin stuck out of that

"Whose toque is that?" asked Rouletabille. "I haven't seen it on the head of anyone here."

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

"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 sittingroom, and that of the stairway passage, and that of the veranda

giving on the drawingroom 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

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

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

"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

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

"Oh, well, let us both accompany him to his chamber," said Natacha, "and I will wish papa goodnight. I'm

eager for bed myself. We will all make a good night of it. Ermolai and Gniagnia will watch with the

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 landingplace

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

"Yes, madame," he replied at once. "Sit in that chair and listen to me. There are things you must know at

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

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 Rouletabile's urgent look commanding absolute

"Renew the attempt of the bouquet!" she murmured in a stifled voice. "But there is not a flower in the

"Be calm, madame. Understand me and answer me: You heard the ticktack from the bouquet while you

"You told me the persons who came to say goodnight to the general. At that time there was no noise of

"Do you think that if there had been any ticktack then you would have heard it, with all 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,

"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

"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

seeminglyconclusive 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

"Now! exclaimed Matrena, whose tears, always ready in emotional moments, flowed freely. "But, Holy

"Don't turn! Don't make a movement! You hear not a move! And speak low, very low. And don't cry, for

"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

As she swore it a little too loudly, Rouletabille seized her arm so that she almost cried out, but she understood

"I am watching the corner where someone is going to enter the general's chamber when everything is locked,

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

dressingroom and the general's chamber. She tried, under Rouletabille's look, to keep calm, but in spite of

Rouletabille laid his two hands on Matrena's strong shoulders and repeated, detaching each syllable, "They

"Madame, your Nihilists haven't invented anything. Iit 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

"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 doorbolt."

"Oh, domovoi! But how did you do that when you never entered the general's chamber until tonight?"

"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

bootnails 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 bootprint 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

"You never told me anything about it. Of course if I had known there was a bootprint..."

"I didn't tell you anything about it because I had my reasons for that, and, anyway, the trace dried while I was

"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 bootprint preoccupied me, and later, when I

could get away from the diningroom, 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."

"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

"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

"Madame, it is probable, it is certain that they have given up the work in the diningroom 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 hatpin. It is not

"A mistake," said Matrena, in a low voice. "Miserable little domovoi who told me nothing, me whom you let

"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 diningroom 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

"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 hatpins.

Tell me about the hatpins. 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 hatpin?"

"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 hatpin in it.

Madame, the point is there yet, filling up the little old hole and the piece of metal is very sharp and very

now I understand the examination of the hatpins. Then it is so easy as that to get through a door with a

"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 penknife, then have finished the hole with the hatpin. The

second hole is still nearer the bolt than the first one. Don't move like that, madame."

"But I can't understand how you can remain so quiet with such a certainty. Great heavens! what proof have

"Just an ordinary pin, madame, not a hatpin this time. Don't confuse the pins. I will show you in a little

"He will drive me distracted with his pins, dear light of my eyes! Bounty of Heaven! God's envoy! Dear little

In her transport she tried to take him in her trembling arms, but he waved her back. She caught her breath and

"Yes. The fifth hatpin of Mademoiselle Natacha's, the one in the toque out in the veranda, has the tip newly

"What would you have? I have examined your own hatpins. 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

"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

And this time she succeeded in taking his head in her two hands and kissing him passionately. Rouletabille

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 dressingroom the farther fatal door whose brass

At last he made her a sign and the reporter, followed by Matrena, advanced on tiptoe 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 keyhole, 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

dressingroom 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 dressingroom where you can still see

the door but no one can see you by looking through the keyhole. 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."

"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,

He did not insist, and they crouched together on the mattress. Rouletabille was squatted like a tailor at work;

but Matrena remained on allfours, 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 nightlamp 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

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

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

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 nightlamp. The bolt softly, very softly, slipped slowly.

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

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 landingplace, bounded

towards the stairs, slid down the banister right to the veranda, crossed the drawingroom like a flash, and

reached the little sittingroom without having jostled a single piece of furniture. He noticed nothing, saw

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

phantoms and he no longer recognized her voice when she demanded of him, "Where? I require that you tell

"I have looked everywhere," he said, so low that Matrena had to come nearer to understand his whisper.

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

"But the person is in that chamber. The person is there! It is there you will find out!" And she waved him

To recall her to the reality of what he had said to her and to make her understand what he desired, he had to

But she could not follow his thoughts any further. She wished absolutely to make her way into Natacha's

"If you enter there," said he, "and if (as is most probable) you don't find what you seek there, all is lost! And

"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

"I repeat that we do not know but that the person has gone," repeated the reporter, and demanded her keys.

He consumed five minutes opening the door of the veranda, so many were his precautions. She watched him

"I am going out, but don't you lose sight of the little sittingroom. At the least movement call me; fire a

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

Bareheaded, 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 allfours up to the gardenedge 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

" 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 sittingroom 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 bead 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 sittingroom 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.

Rouletabille was there, his face all scarred by red scratches, without collar or necktie, having hastily

resumed his clothes. He appeared furious as he surprised her in his disarray. She let him lead her as though

"Madame," he commenced, "it is impossible to work with you. Why in the world have you wept not two feet

from your stepdaughter's door? You and your Koupriane, you commence to make me regret the Faubourg

Poissoniere, you know. Your stepdaughter 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 today for your

marching and countermarching up and down the sittingroom and complains that you kept her from

"No, no, she has not heard me. I was there like a shadow, like a shadow of myself. She will never hear me.

"In any case, it is necessary, you must understand, that she should attach no more importance to what you

have done tonight 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 sittingroom? You understand me? And tomorrow, madame, embrace her as you

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."

"Since we didn't find anything inside, it was certainly necessary to find something outside."

"SHE is with us. She will not desert us. I will even say that I believe she has a special guardianship over the

"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

"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."

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

"Why did you keep me from throwing myself on him, from rushing upon him as he opened the door? Ah, I

"No. At the least noise he would have closed the door. A turn of the key and he would have escaped forever.

"Careless boy! Why then, if you knew he was going to come, didn't you leave me in the bedroom and you

"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?"

"You have sworn to drive me mad! What do you mean by your 'if it was only that'?"

"The potion? The glass of the crime! I have locked it in my room, in the cupboard safe, safe!"

"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

"So that the person can be sure, madame, that if he has not drunk it is simply because he has not wished to. A

"Yes, yes. 0 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?"

"He is still asleep. I have put the glass on the table, out of his reach. He will have to call me."

"Be easy about that. They think the general is poisoned already. It is the first carefree moment I have been

"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

"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

"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 diningroom? 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 hotelrat! Now, there is someone in your home (or who comes to your home) who acts like a

hotelrat 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 everbody, though you

"But this man comes in as he pleases by day and by night? You don't answer. You know who he is, perhaps?"

"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.

"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,

"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

"Depend on me, and get back quickly for love of me. My blood clogs in my heart when you are not here, dear

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

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

"It is true. I had dreadful dreams. But you, papa, did you sleep well? Did you take your narcotic?"

"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 dressingroom to throw it out, and she delayed there to recover her selfpossession.

"You will see, papa, that you will be able to live just like everyone else finally. The great thing was to clear

"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

"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

"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

"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

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

"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 drawingroom. 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,

"It is all good news," replied Natacha. "Everybody here is splendid. The general is quite gay. But what news

"If you have not touched them, so much the better. I arrived here very anxious. I brought you yesterday, from

KrasnoieCoelo, 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 headgardener 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

"The Emperor's grapes are diseased, then?" interrogated Rouletabille. "Phylloxera pest has got into the

"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

"The Bordeaux mixture," was heard in Rouletabille's trembling voice "And do you know what it is, Your

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

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

"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

"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

"Well, we must clear this matter up. It is absolutely necessary that we know what happened to those grapes."

"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."

"We must ask Boris and Michael," said Natacha. "Good God! surely they have not eaten them! Perhaps they

"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

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

"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

"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 goodbye, without seeing us, without troubling yourselves whether or not the general might need

"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, daring 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

"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

"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 I hope you will not have further disputing," he cried, looking over Natacha's shoulder.

"You did well, my love. Let us all do as well. I have passed an excellent night, messieurs. Real sleep! I have

"That is so," said Matrena slowly. "The general had no need of narcotic. He slept like a child and did not

"All the same, it is singular that those grapes should have disappeared," insisted the marshal, following his

"Yesterday evening, after these gentlemen had left the house, did you notice a small white box on the garden

"And the servants? Have any of them been sick? The dvornicks? The schwitzar? In the kitchens? No one

Like the marshal, Matrena Petrovna and Feodor Feodorovitch looked at one another, repeating in French, "No

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 marecha1 brought escaped the spraying of

"He is always right, this little fellow," beamed Matrena, as proudly as though she had brought him into the

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

"Request to M. Joseph Rouletabille not to mix in matters that do not concern him. The second warning will

"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 notebook: "Natacha to her father: 'But you, papa, have you had a good night?

"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 memorandumbook. 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.

Rouletabille took a long walk which led him to the Troitsky Bridge, then, redescending 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

Order reigned in the city. The guards were polite, decorative and superb in bearing. The passersby 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 tomorrow. 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 eaudevie 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

girlstudents 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 horsd'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,

Discussion political, economic, revolutionary, and other in the room where they munch horsd'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 luncheontime; then you would have to put off these

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

"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 policeguards' 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

"I also," said Rouletabille, who put a rouble into the honorable functionary's hand.

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

policeguard, 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.

"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 sleepingpotion, 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

"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.

"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."

"You know the height of the window above the little roadway. To reach it he uses a watertrough, whose iron

rings are bent, and also the marks of a grapplingiron 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

"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

"An examination of the marks on the wall and on the pipe doesn't leave any doubt of it, and it is always the

"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

"The little demon! Why does she take him into her room at night? Do you think perhaps there is some

"I too. Natacha is not a wanton. Natacha has no heart. She has only a brain. And it doesn't take long for a

"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

"Yes, I know it," replied Rouletabille, in a voice that sounded singular to the ear of the Chief of Police and

"I? Nothing," replied the reporter, this time in a firmer tone. "I ought, however, to say this to you: I am sure

And Rouletabille handed Koupriane the message he had received that same morning.

"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

"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."

"Sometbing 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."

"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

"Touman! Impossible! He is one of the best agents from Kiew. He was recommended by Gounsovski."

"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

"Now," said he, "go ahead and tell me all the details of the poison and the grapes the marshal of the court

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 drawingroom 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."

"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 sittingroom. 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."

"Oh, you understand me," replied Koupriane, who visibly held in an anger that threatened to break forth any

"I never saw anything. After all, it is possible. There were some very dark nights. I went back and forth."

But already the two guards had thrown themselves on Touman and had drawn off his coat and shirt. The man

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 bottommost 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

"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

Touman, across whose shoulders they had thrown his coat and who lay now across a chair, found strength to

"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

notebook 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 buttends 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. Fortyeight 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."

"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

"Eh? The life of General Trebassof! You speak as if it belonged to you, as if you could dispose of it."

"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

Rouletabille walked back and forth, very much worked up; then suddenly he stopped short.

"Good God, Monsieur Koupriane, because I have to interview the President of the Duma yet, and complete

"Monsieur Koupriane, I offer it to you again. Life for life. Give me the life of that poor devil and I promise

"Not at all. Do you promise me that you will maintain silence about the case of that man and that you will not

Koupriane looked at Rouletabille as he had looked at him during the altercation they had on the edge of the

"Good morning. No, don't trouble to show me out. I am compromised enough already," said Rouletabille,

"Au revoir, and good luck! Get to work interviewing the President of the Duma," added Koupriane

"That lad," said the Chief of Police aloud to himself, "hasn't told me a bit of what he knows."

"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 selfcontrol. 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 fistblow 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 summerhouse. 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

"The Barinia," said the reporter, in a low voice and with his finger to his lips to warn the faithful attendant to

"Well, where is Natacha?" he demanded hurriedly as she kissed his hands quite as though she had made an

"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 tonight if it

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 domovoidoukh in anything, day or night.

"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,

"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?"

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

"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

halfhour later, much calmer. He took his way to the Grand Morskaia Hotel, went inside and asked the

Without any curiosity as to which prince, Rouletabille cursed his luck and again asked for her address.

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.

"Yes, yes," said Rouletabille, "I understand. She sings this evening, doesn't she?"

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 dinnertime.

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 musichall, nor a

cafeconcert, nor a restaurant, nor a public garden; it is all of these and some other things besides. Summer

theater, winter theater, openair theater, hall for spectacles, scenic mountain, exerciseground, diversions of

all sorts, garden promenades, cafes, restaurants, private diningrooms, 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 cafesconcerts, 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

twentyfive roubles for the sole pleasure of having a demoiselle born on the banks of the Seine for his

companion at the suppertable. 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 champagnedrinkers sit. The

headliners, 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

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 openair 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

childlike, 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 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 openair 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 presentday 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 supperrooms 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 grandduchesses 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 KasanMoscow 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 longenduring they found it to their interest to do so. The open, apparent life

Annouclika led was less troublesome to them than her hidden activities would be. The lesser police who

surrounded the Chief of the St. retersburg Secret Service, the famous Gounsovski, had meaning smiles when

the matter was discussed. Among them Annouchka had the ignoble nickname, "Stoolpigeon."

Rouletabille must have been well aware of all these particulars concerning Annoucbka, 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

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 timbermerchant, 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

"On my word, I tell you, dear friends, he isn't a bad acquaintance. He did me a little service at Bakou last

"Oh, yes, a little of everything for a livelihood. I have a little well down Bakou way, nothing big; and a little

"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

"Oh, he doesn't trouble himself. Do you know who he is to have supper with? With Annouchka, my dears,

"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

"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."

"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."

"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

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

"You certainly have naive notions. You think a chief of Secret Police should be an ogre," replied the advocate

"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."

"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

"What, Natacha! So it is. So it is. Natacha! Natacha!" said the others. "And with Boris Mourazoff's parents."

"Oh, he can't be far away. If he was there we would see Michael Korsakoff too. They keep close on each

"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

"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

"Her father had almost drawn her away from that crowd," affirmed Ivan, "and that was as it should be. She

"Yes, Feodor certainly isn't aware that his daughter's idea was to applaud the heroine of Kasan station. She is

"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

"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

"That's not the same thing. We are invited by Gounsovski himself. Don't forget that, if stories concerning it

"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

"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

sittingroom 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: tomorrow 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, granddukes, 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

The others said: "Ah, ah, the good Gounsovski. He knows. He knows. Certainly, accept his supper. With

"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

"Thanks, gentlemen; certainly it is he. I know him," said Rouletabille, seating himself and mastering his

"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

"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

"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

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

"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."

Ivan Petrovitch said, "He passes among some people as very advanced and very much compromised."

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

"Be quiet, Thaddeus," interrupted Athanase Georgevitch, roughly. "It is easy to see that you are lately from

"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 whirlwind 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 cleancut 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 whichever 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 Petrovitcb, Atbanase 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 counterdemonstration 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

halfgloom. 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 allfours 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 carriageway 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

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 icebath and were being served with tiny pates while

Rouletabille yielded to their invitation readily enough, and accompanied them when the headwaiter

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 wintertheater, 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 allpowerful 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

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

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,"

"Do come. You will help me pay my debt and perhaps he will be useful to you as well. He is useful to

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:

"While there is still time," he said, "believe me, you ought to start, to quit this country. Haven't you had

"Yes," replied the reporter. "And you can dispense with any further notice from this time on."

"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

"I see that I am in a country of acquaintances," he said, without appearing disturbed.

"Rouletabille!" cried la belle Onoto. "Why, then, he is the little fellow who solved the mystery of the Yellow

"He came to save the life of General Trebassof," sniggered Gounsovski. "He is certainly a brave little young

"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

"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

"Yes, yes, Natacba was there," joined in the other friends from the datcha des Iles.

"Prince, no politics, or let me take my leave," clucked Gounsovski. "Your health, dear Annouchka."

All broke out laughing. Gounsovski recovered his slipping glasses by his usual quick movement and

"His system is excellent," said the prince. "As he is in with everybody, everybody is in with the police,

"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, streetthieves who since the recent political

troubles had infested St. Petersburg and whom nobody, could get rid of without paying for it.

"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 roules, returned the fiftykopeck piece to the trembling child and added a

"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 carvingknife 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

"I always take my revolver when I go out," said Athanase. "It is more prudent. I say this before the police.

"There's no place any more to buy revolvers," dedared Ivan Petrovitch. "All such places are closed."

"There are some still at my locksmith's place. The proof is that today in the little Kaniouche my locksmith,

whose name is Smith, when 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;

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 twentykopeck 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 breathiess 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

"Aren't you soon going to get him out of our way? I heard some of our brethren the other day speaking in a

"Oh, that," said Gounsovski, shaking his head, "is an affair I have nothing to do with. Apply to Koupriane.

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 be 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 twentyfive 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 crowblack 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 weepingwillow soaked in ink. The plate reached

"Bah!" said he, with a lordly air, "I have no money. But here is my pocketbook; I will give it to you for a

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

"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 Gounsoyski from yellow turned green.

"But why did you hide yourself that way, Annouchka?" asked Onoto as she caressed the beautiful tresses of

"You know I had been condemned to death, and then pardoned. I had been able to leave Moscow, and I

"Good Lord, I'm just back from London and Paris how should I know anything! But to have been

"Very amusing," said Annouchka icily. "And if you have a brother whom you love, Onoto, think how mnch

"So you may know and not give any pain to your Annouchka in the future, I will tell you, madame, what

"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.

"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. Viassof'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

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, "Viassof 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. Viassof 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

"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 today she was

"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 dressingroom 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

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:

"Ah, yes, but you'll not touch him," clamored the spirited girl of the Black Land; "you are not strong enough

"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

"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

"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 supperparty, 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

"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

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

"Oh, monsieur," said he, "I didn't want you to tell me that. Thanks all the same, and good evening."

"Tell them they may now open all the rooms on this corridor; I'll not hold them any longer." Thus had

Left alone, the head of the Secret Service wiped his brow and drank a great glass of iced water which he

"Koupriane will have his work cut out for him this evening; I wish him good luck. As to them, whatever

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.

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

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 birchtrees, which just before had been like great black staffs, now became white tapers

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.

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

The night had become black again. He murmured: "How is it you are here in person?"

"I have been informed that something will happen tonight. Natacha went to Krestowsky and exchanged

some words with Annouchka there. Prince Galitch is involved, and it is an affair of State."

"Yes, a long time ago. She ought to be in bed. In any case she is pretending to be abed. The light from her

"That's a mistake. I shouldn't have told her anything. She will take such extra precautions that the others will

"I have told her she should not go to the groundfloor at all this night, and that she must not leave the

"You see I have profited by all your information. I have followed your instructions. The road from the

"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

"To bed. I have paid my debt to my host. I have the right to some repose now. Good luck!"

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 allfours 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

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 drawingroom open. The door of the

sittingroom 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 groundfloor free this night. Rouletabille

imagined that the doors of the rooms on the groundfloor 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 sittingroom 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

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 sittingroom. 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 halflight,

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

Warned by Koupriane that something would happen that night, and foreseeing that it would happen on the

groundfloor 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

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 gutterpipe. 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 revolvershots

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 riverbank,

hovering in the mist. Suddenly Koupniane'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 drawingroom in

a heap. When she had almost strangled her stepdaughter, 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

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

"The one, Feodor Feodorovitch, who has wished more than once to assassinate you, and who this night has

The general held himself up by his two hands against the wall, and, looking at Matrena and Natacha, who

"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! I 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

At this moment repeated blows shook the veranda door. Matrena, the watchdog, 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

"General," he said, "there was a man who had sworn your ruin and who was made an instrument by your

Feodor turned toward Natacha, who burned Koupriane with her gaze, trying to learn what this news was he

"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 tonight; 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."

"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?"

He raised his stick toward her. Thus Ivan the Terrible had killed his son with a blow of his boarspear.

But Natacha, instead of bowing her head beneath the blow that menaced her, turned toward Koupriane and

"He is not dead. If you bad succeeded in taking him, dead or alive, you would already have his name."

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 tonight."

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

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 heen 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, tbat Michael

Nikolaievitch did not come here yesterday, and that the man who has tried to poison you is certainly someone

At these words Rouletabille turned pale, but he did not let himself lose selfcontrol. He replied simply:

"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

She looked a long time at him as though she would penetrate to the bottom of his thoughts.

"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."

"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

"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

"He came here with poison. He came here to poison your father, Natacha," moaned Matrena Petrovna, who

"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

"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

"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

Natacha, who seemed to have suddenly lost all power for defending herself, moaned, begged, railed, seemed

"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,

"We have suppressed a man," said the icy voice of Koupriane, "who was merely the agent for the base deeds

She succeeded in recovering a new energy that in her depths of despair they would have supposed

"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

"Where are those papers?" demanded the curt voice of Feodor. "Bring them here at once, Koupriane; I wish

"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

And she threw herself on the floor, weeping, sobbing, "He has nothing, he has nothing!" She seemed to weep

"Is that true?" demanded Feodor Feodorovitch, with his most somber manner. "Is it true, Koupriane, that you

"It is true, General, that we have found nothing. Everything had already been carried away."

"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

"Oh, we have suspected Michael for some time, and truly, after what has just happened, we cannot have any

"Yes, but you declared you had papers, and you have not. That is abominable procedure, Koupriane," replied

"General! We are sure, you hear, we are absolutely sure that the man who tried to poison you yesterday and

"And what reason have you for being so sure? It is necessary to tell it," insisted the general, who trembled

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?"

"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."

"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

"Mademoiselle," replied Rouletabille, not lowering his eyes under Natacha's thunderous regard, "I am sure of

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.

"How he looks at me! See, he is the demon; yes, yes, the little domovoi, the little domovoi. But look out, poor

"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 cooperation 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 Nikolajevitch, while

he, the father, after having failed to overawe her just now, was there in a corner suffering agonizedly.

"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

"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 allpowerful, punishing father appeared in the women's apartments to punish the

"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

"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

Natacha lifted her eyes to his, then her look went past him toward heaven, and from her lips came just one

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

"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

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 deathrattle in his throat, he pulled himself into his

chamber and fell in a heap. Katharina the Bohemian was there. She bent her quickwitted, 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

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.

"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.

"You know that nothing has been found here in his rooms. The only compromising papers that have been

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

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

The chase commenced in the rosy dawn of the isles. Already bloodlike 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 KamenyOstrow. 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 Kathanna. She flew like the wind, but in a distracted course. She had reached

KamenyOstrow on the west bank. "Oh, for a carriage, a horse!" clamored Koupriane, who had left his

turnout 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 EliaguineOstrow. 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

"Stop, or I fire!" cried Koupriane, and he drew his revolver. But a hand grabbed it from him.

"Not that!" said Rouletabille, as be 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 Galltch 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

Koupriane, as he saw the prince about to pass him, trembled. The prince saluted him and ironically amused

"Well, well, how do you do, my dear Monsieur Koupriane. Your Excellency has risen in good time this

"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

"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

"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

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,

"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

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 tablecloths. They went into the

pantries and down into the bold. 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 Kathanna. She was

safe. Now he could not reach her. It would be useless to search the maze of the Bohemian quarter, where her

countrypeople 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

"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."

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

"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."

"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

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."

"Monsieur Koupriane, recall what Natacha Feodorovna as she raised her lovely eyes to heaven, replied to her

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

"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 lightheartedly 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

"Don't regret what happened to the papers," he said. "It is I who tell you not to. But what you say doesn't

"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."

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

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.

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

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

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 errandboys, 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 frockcoat, 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

"My dear Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, if it will not inconvenience you, I wish you would oome and dine

with me today. I will look for you within two hours. Madame Gounsovski will be pleased to make your

"I will go. He ought to have wind of what is being plotted, and as for me, I don't know where Annoucbka has

gone. I have more to learn from him than he has from me. Besides, as Athanase Georgevitch said, one may

>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

"General Trebassof and my stepmother will be very happy to have you come to dinner today. As for

myself, monsieur, you will pardon me the order which has closed to you for a number of days a dwelling

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.

Halfanhour later he gave the address of the villa to an isvotchick, and soon he stepped out before the gate

Rouletabille was so occupied by thought of the conversation he was going to have with Natacha that he had

The reporter found Koupriane's agents making a closelinked 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. Rouletablle

passed on, entered the garden and saw Matrena Petrovna there walking with her stepdaughter. 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

"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

"Boris called to see us today, to say goodby, 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.

"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

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

"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

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 sufilcient 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 movemerit was surprised by Matrena Petrovna,

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

The winecloset was in the diningroom. She rose to go there, but Natacha hurried before her down the little

"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 diningroom at the same time. They were there alone,

as Rouletabille had foreseen. He stopped Natacha and planted himself in front of her.

"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

"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

She grasped his hand in a quick sympathetic movement that she seemed instantly to regret.

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?"

"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

"No. If they knew what you have just said, what you have proposed now, you would be dead tomorrow.

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

"Mademoiselle, just one word more, a single word. Do you doubt now that Michael tried to poison your

"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

"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."

"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

"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

"If that is the only doubt she has," he said to himself, "I can reassure her. No one could come, excepting by

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

The young people leaned over his demonstration curiously and all eyes in the kiosk were intent on the

"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 Grandduke 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

"Well," continued the general, "do you want to know, Matrena Petrovna, what a constitution is? There! That

The general, with a swoop of his hand, mixed all the matches. Rouletabille laughed, but the good Matrena

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

"Listen, my children," said he. "We are going to commence the zakouskis. Koupriane ought to have been here

Saying this, holding still the little glass in his hand, he felt in his pocket with the other for his watch, and

" Ah, the watch has come back from the repairer," Rouletabille remarked smilingly to Matrena Petrovna. "It

"1t has very fine works," said the general. "It was bequeathed to me by my grandfather. It marks the seconds,

"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

"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

"What has someone put in the vodka?" repeated Matrena Petrovna in a thick voice, her eyes almost starting

The two young people threw themselves upon the unfortunates. Feodor's face had an expression of atrocious

"We are poisoned," cried the general, in the midst of his chokings. "I am burning inside."

"We must find an emetic," cried Rauletabille, holding on to the general, who had almost slipped from his

Matrena Petrovna, whose gagging noises were violent, hurried down the steps of the kiosk, crossed the

garden as though wildfire 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 medicinechest, 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 nearby, 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, hut the reporter had shown him a policepaper on which Koupriane himself had declared

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, AptiekarskiPereoulok, 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

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, scrapiron, sheepskins, useless touloupes, and on

the floor musty old clothes, motheaten furs, and sheepskin 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

"Well, here you are again, lad. Do you bring poison again today? This will end by being found out, and the

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 Rouletabile'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 semiOriental 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 birthland 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 gamblinggame, 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

Stchoukinedvor, an immense popular bazaar. He accumulated a few roubles and installed himself on his

own account at the back of a court in the AptiekarskiPereoulok, where he gradually piled up a heap of old

odds and ends that no one wanted even in the Stchoukinedvor. 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 policeguards 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 AptiekarskiPereoulok, where he was established in honest labor. Pere Alexis,

"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,

"What is that little phial?" demanded Koupriane, as he saw Rouletabille pull a small, stoppered bottle out of

The reporter replied, "I have put into this bottle the vodka that was poured into Natacha's glass and mine and

"No, not me," replied Rouletabille, in bored fashion. "Don't think about that. Simply do what I tell you. Then

"And you, Alexis, do you understand?" asked the reporter. "When can we have the result of your analysis?

"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 headquarters. Sure you

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

"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 policeguard have their Father Alexis of

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."

Rouletabille looked at him and shook his head. His lips trembled as he said, "I know what you think. It is

"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

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 hiss 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

When they arrived at policeheadquarters, 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 AptiekarskiPereoulok 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 halflight 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 windowpanes 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 tnese few days, these

notmany 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

"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

"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,

"Yes, yes, that is possible," said Rouletabille, impatiently. "Are you an amateur of such things?" he added, in

"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

"How could it be otherwise?" he said. "I loved and believed myself beloved. But it proved to be nothing,

"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."

"Listen," implored Boris in a voice that showed tears were not far away. "You are still a child, but still you

"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,

"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."

"Yes, yes; and Mademoiselle Natacha, does she know it is to Orel you have decided to retire?"

"So far so good. You needn't feel so desolate, my dear Monsieur Boris. All is not lost. I will say even that I

"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?"

"Very well. You must have reasons for saying that. I obey you, monsieur, and go."

As Boris started towards the entrancearch, 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.

"Oh, nothing so quick. Still, I have already analyzed the two napkins, you know."

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

folderols, and leaped to the court. There Boris grabbed him by his coat. Rouletabille turned, furious:

"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

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

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 AptiekarskiPereoulok. He made the circuit without knowing it,

without stopping for anything, without seeing or understanding anything. As a brokenwinded 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

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 VasiliOstrow, 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

The reporter was astonished at not finding Natacha either in Matrena's apartment or Feodor's. He asked

Matrena where her stepdaughter was. Matrena turned a frightened face toward him. When they were alone,

"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

"Where is she? This disappearance is more than strange at the moment we were dying, when her father O

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 wouldbe 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

Ermolai said he had seen Natacha just outside the gate for a moment, looking up and down the road. Then he

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 footprints. 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.

Monsieur and Madame Gounsovski were playing a game of draughts under the lamp. Rouletabille as he

entered the drawingroom 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."

Rouletabille turned cold at this last phrase. He felt actual fear in the presence of these two figures, so

"But you have had rather a bad dinner already, through that dreadful affair at General Trebassof's. Come into

the diningroom." "Ah, so someone has told you?" said Rouletabille. "No, no, thanks; I don't need anything

"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 waitingmaid 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 gametable, and he moved one of his pawns, saying, "You will permit

Rouletabille ventured to lay his hand on the oily, hairy fist which extended from a dubious cuff.

"It was easy to foresee everything," replied Gounsovski, offering cigars, "to foresee everything from the

"Well?" questioned Rouletabille, recalling with some inquietude the sight of the whipping in the guards'

"Well, this Priemkof, between ourselves," (and he bent close to the reporter's ear) "is no better, as a

policeguard 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

"How is it that you have not done so already, yourself, Monsieur Gounsovski? Why wait to speak about it to

"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 dinnertalk, to a friend who is not of the police. We never denounce

"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

"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

"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 headcook, 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

"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,

"Priemkof knows it well enough," replied Madame as she refilled the glasses, "but Koupriane doesn't know

It certainly was enough for Rouletabille; he had had enough of it! This idle gossip and these living bombs!

These pinchbecks, these whispering taletellers in their bourgeois, countrified setting; these politicopolice

comhinations 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

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:

"I shall believe in her until my death," Rouletabille thrust back; "but I admit to you that at this moment I don't

"Watch the Bay of Lachtka, and come to tell me tomorrow 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

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

At the corner of AptiekarskiPereoulok 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

"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

"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

"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."

"But Kister and Litchkof had not left their houses. Kister, who had just met Litchkof, said so. What does this

"Can you tell me," asked Rouletabille, ready now for the thunderclap that his question invited, "the name of

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

"Priemkof! Priemkof! One of Gounsovski's men! I should have suspected him," railed Koupriane after

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

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

"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

"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;

"Here is the datcha, anyway. In the name of heaven, tell your driver to stop the horses here. If the 'doctors' are

Koupriane moderated his excitement and that of his driver and horses, and the carriage stopped noiselessly,

"Madame Trebassof is better," continued Ermolal, who understood nothing of their emotion. "The general is

"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.

>From the corner where they were, and looking through the veranda, they could see the "doctors" as they

They were seated in chairs side by side, in a corner of the drawingroom from where they could see

everything in the room and a part of the garden, which they faced, and could hear everything. A window of

the firstfloor 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

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 vineclad 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 birchtrees, 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.

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

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 windowspace. 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 VassiliOstrow 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 drawingroom 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

Erinolai 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 drawingroom, 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:

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

"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 sittingroom, 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

"Let them try to get away, too, by the servants' stairway and jump from the window after the general. We

"Your plan won't work," said Rouletabille, "unless the door of Natacha's sittingroom that opens on the

"And unless the door of the little passageway before that staircase that opens into the drawingroom is

"It's impracticable," said the reporter. "That will arouse their suspicions more than ever. Leave it to me; I

"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."

"Why, no. If they see me and they know I ought to be there as soon as I show myself to them they will

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

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

Ermolai went ahead of Koupriane and Rouletabille. At the moment they reached the foot of the veranda steps

"Oh, the general is waiting for you, Excellency. He told me to have you come to him at once. He is entirely

"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 Rodetabille vaguely saluted the two conspirators in the

drawingroom. 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

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 watchdog, 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 VassiliOstrow 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 dressinggown 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 mixup" 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 tnat, all af 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

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 keyholes, 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.

"Listen. Someone is coming up the stairs," whispered Matrena, with her keen ear, and she slipped from the

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 deathlike

figures, motionless and mute. No one dared to speak or make a movement until the door had been closed. But

"Well? Well? Save us! Where are they? Ah, my dear little domovoidoukh, save the general, for the love of

"The plan is simple. They are between the two staircases, watching the one and the other. I will go and find

"Caracho! That is simple enough. Why didn't we think of it sooner? Because everybody lost his head except

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'

"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

He started a few steps, but had not his cane and suddenly he tottered. Matrena Petrovna jumped to him and

"Not by the servants' stairway, not by the servants' stairway," growled the obstinate general.

And she carried him back into the apartment while she said quickly to Rouletabille:

Rouletabille disappeared at once through the door to the main staircase, and the group attended by Koupriane,

passed through the dressingroom 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.

"But Ermolai ought to know where they are," exclaimed Koupriane. "Perhaps they have gone, finding out

"I have seen his body lying in the middle of the drawingroom 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

"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

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:

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

Matrena Petrovna's teeth chattered. "They are waiting for us to go down," said Koupraine.

"Yes, yes," they all said, for the situation was becoming intolerable; "enough of this. Go on down. Go on

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

drawingroom, stepped over Ermolai's huge corpse, entered Natacha's sittingroom 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

At this cry, they all stopped, after an instinctive move to go back. Feodor Feodorovitch, who was still in

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

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

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

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

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

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? 0 my God" Rouletabille asked this vain question

Natacha! Innocent or guilty, where was she? What was she doing? to know that! To know if one were right or

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;

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 nearby, 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

His eyes searched the great arm of the river for a boat. The river was deserted. Not a sail, nothing visible on

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 sailingyacht 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

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

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

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 StariaDerevnia 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

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

waterplants, 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 warcries and waved their clubs. Rouletabille stopped short before this prehistoric invasion. He

would never have imagined that a few miles from the Newsky Prospect he could have found himself in the

midst of such a spectacle. These savages had not even a loincloth. 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 slaughterhouse 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 starknaked 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, longhaired 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

Happily, he heard the noise of a primitive conveyance behind him. It was a telega. Curiously primitive, the

telega is fourwheeled, with two planks thrown crudely across the axletrees. Rouletabille gave the man who

was seated in it thee 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.

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 reddishbrown, 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 nearby, he commenced to eat

with gloomy avidity. He was inclined to feel sorry for himself, to indulge in selfpity. "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

Just then the door opened. Rouletabille supposed the proprietor of the place was entering.

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?"

"And the general and ! Ah, that frightful night! And those two unfortunates who ?"

Rouletabille looked him over. The Prefect of Police had an arm in a sling, but he was bright and shining as a

new tenrouble piece, while he, poor Rouletabille, was so abominably soiled and depressed. Where did he

"Bah!" exclaimed Rouletabille, "do you mean to say that you have come here to save Natacha?"

"Monsieur Rouletabille, I have a very fine little dungeon in Saints Peter and Paul fortress that is all ready for

"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

"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 tbe revolutionaries and the instigator of all the crimes against her

"I am sure that you are mistaken, Excellency. But how have you been guided to her?"

"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."

"Exactly. I had arranged to have him meet me at the Sestroriesk station. He pointed out the place where you

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

"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 stepmother

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."

"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

Koupriane seized Rouletabille's wrist and threw some terrible words at him, looking into the depths of his

"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

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

"It is so possible that it is so. Pere Alexis dedared 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

"Oh, that is horrible," muttered the stupefied reporter; "that is horrible, for then the poisoner must be either

"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

"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. Everthing 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

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

"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

Koupriane was at his post of observation. Evening slowly fell. The sky was growing grayishblack, a tint that

blended with the slatecolored 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

"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 eatinghouse could see the false

moujiks, who had wriggled on their stomachs to the very edge of the ridge, hold ing themselves ready to

Behind his shutter, Koupriane could not restrain an exclamation of triumph; he gradually identified some of

"Eh! eh! There is Priemkof himself and the others. Gounsovski is right and he certainly is wellinformed; his

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

Meantime, Koupriane's agents, trembling before his anger, gathered at the eatinghouse. 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 selfcontrol.

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

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

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

theriver where young girls about to die are confined who have read too much, without entirely

"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

"Yes, in order to warn them. But still I was a little late, since you did take Natacha."

"You are their accomplice in all this," he hurled at the reporter, "and I am going to the Tsar for permission to

"Hurry, then, Excellency," replied the reporter coldly, "because the Nihilists, who also think they have a little

At the hotel a note from Gounsovski: "Don't forget this time to come tomorrow 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

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 meetingplace 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 atter 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 tablefeats, 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.

"What a terrible affair," said the reporter, "I certainly believed we were all dead men."

"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

"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,

"Ah, my dear little French monsieur, you should see it at suppertime, 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 ail 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, highborn 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 dininghall and ran across it fullspeed. 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 gottenup, drew a revolver from his pocket and discharged it at the student

pointblank. 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 tablecloth,

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?"

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 highborn Russian possesses the secret over almost everybody else in the world, the

"You have been denounced by Koupriane, who holds you responsible for the checks he has suffered in this

"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

"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.

"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

"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

"Monsieur, at the Chateau yesterday morning something happened that is perhaps more alarming than the

"No. It is a bizarre occurrence and almost unbelievable. The eider downs, all the eider down coverings

"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!"

"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."

"We are inclined to regard it as a threat by the revolutionaries. If they can carry away the eider downs, it

"I? Nothing any more. Not only do I not think any more, but I don't wish to. Tell me, Monsieur le Grand

"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 Natacba spoken of again under any pretext."

"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.

"I have no appetite, Monsieur le Marechal. Tell me, the Emperor must be rather bored at TsarskoieCoelo?"

"Oh, he has plenty of work. He rises at seven o'clock and has a light English luncheon tea and toast. At

"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

"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

halfpast 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.

"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 redescended 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 GrandesEcuries and the bridge of the Katharine

canal. He entered AptiekarskiPereoulok and pushed open Pere Alexis's door, under the arch, at the back of

"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?

"For you, good little friend! You want to make your old Pere lexis laugh or weep!"

"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

"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

"No," replied Rouletahille, with a selfmocking 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

"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

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

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."

"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 newcomers, 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

"I believe these men here have come to rob me," he cried in French. "What do you say, my son? Shall I call

"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 GrandMorskaia Hotel.

Salutations and your good health! I see with pleasure that you also appreciate the counsels of our dear Pere

"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 bullhide where the dark angels

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 bullhide, but good enough cowhide. Don't you want to read on this

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."

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,

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

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

backcountry 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

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

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 curltipped 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 twentyfive and had the benign beauty of Jesus on

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 inkstands. 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 alwaysthreatening misfortune had fallen upon him. They

were proceeding with his trial. The one who seemed to preside over these strange sessions pronounced a

Rouletabille hardly recognized her, she was so strangely dressed, like the Russian poor, with her

underjacket of redflannel and the handkerchief which, knotted under her chin, covered all her beautiful

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 man who crouched near Rouletabille rose in a savage bound and cried out rapidly, wild words,

And then nothing more but strangling gasps. The figures that had moved out from the wall had clutched his

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

And he crossed his arms. But he soon bad 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 ringbolt that projected from a beam of the ceiling.

During this time the man struggled futilely, and his deathrattle 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

deathapparatus, rope and ringbolt, 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

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

"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

"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 he 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

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 correspond once 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 condcmned him to death,

Because he had come to Russia and mixed in affairs that did not concern his nationality, and had

Because he had not kept the promises of neutrality he freely made to a representative of the Central

For having denounced to Koupriane the identity of the two "doctors" who had been assigned to kill

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

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 ringbolt had

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 ringbolt into a beam

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 passersby; 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

And suddenly from the ineffable peace of his last evening, while the balalaika mourned and the man

overhead tested the solidity of his ringbolt, a voice outside, the grave, deep voice of Annouchka, sang for

Rouletabille listened to the voice dying away with the last sob of the balalaika. "It is too sad," he said, rising.

They came to search him. All was ready above. They pushed him gently towards the shed. When he was

under the ringbolt, 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

"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

"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 upreme moment, happened to be face to face with Rouletabille. "Koupriane's police,

Rouletabille uttered a cry, a cry of joy, and while lie had some reason for believing that at the point he had

reached now of his tooshort 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

"It is the same thing, my dear monsieur. A traitor, a wretched traitor," continued Rouletabille.

"A vulgar poisoner! Is that not so? But, tell me how a vulgar poisoner who, under cover of Nihilism,

"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.

But it was probable that it was also all wrong, for the gentleman of the Neva came up to him hat in hand and

"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

"Ah, but wait a little. What the devil! Now that I am sure I have not been mistaken and that I have been

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,

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

"It was you, with your revolver, who gave the signal to Koupriane's agents! You have done the dirty work for

Rouletabille tried vainly to protest, to explain, to say that his revolver shot, on the contrary, had saved the

"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,

"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?"

"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

"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 stepmother, 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 tomorrow. We

"Pardon, pardon. But if I do prove the innocence of Natacha? Just wait, messieurs. There is only I who can

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

"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,

"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

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

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

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

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:

Such joy shone in his countenance that there seemed to be an aureole around him, and none of those there

"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

daydream. Steadily counting his steps he crossed thus the court, which was vast. "Forty, fortyone,

The others, although they did not understand, reframed 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 be 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 landingplace, 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

landingplace again. There he asked for the key of the chamberdoor 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.

"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

"Oh, monsieur," said the chief, "you are free to go through all the maneuvers you wish. No one escapee us.

Outside we should have you within arm's reach quite as well as here. And, besides, it is entirely impossible to

"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

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 deathstool and his hangingrope.

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 rightaboutface, 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

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 twentyfour

hours to set Natacha Feodorovna free. In twentyfour hours, if he has not succeeded, he will return here to

A happy murmur greeted these words. The moment their chief spoke thus, they felt sure of Natacha's fate.

"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

Two or three only of the group said, "That lad is playing with us; it is not possible."

"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

TsarskoieCoelo. 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 TsarskoieCoelo, 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 TsarskoieCoelo, he

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

Then the carriage was ready, with two little Finnish horses, whose gait he knew well, an evillooking driver,

who none the less would get him there; the trunk; roubles to the domestics. "Spacibo, barine. Spacibo."

The interpreter hesitated, believing it to be an unbecoming pleasantry, then waved vaguely to the driver, and

"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! Scari!

The isvotchick pounded his horses, crowding past the dvornicks who watched at the corners of the houses

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.

Little frozen huts, no larger than tombs, occasionally indicated the road, but there was no mark of life in that

Crack! One of the shafts broken. "What a country!" To hear Rouletabille one would suppose that only in

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

After some other petty adventures (they ran into a ravine and had tremendous difficulty rescuing the trunk)

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 hoarfrost 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

"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 guardhouse 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 GrandMarshal of the

Court. They replied that he could get the Marshal's address in Tsarskoie. But the subaltern turned his head.

He saw someone ad'vancing. It was the GrandMarshal himself. Some exceptional service called him,

"Why, what are you doing here? You are not yet gone then, Monsieur Roidetabille?"

"Politeness before everything, Monsieur le GrandMarechal! 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."

The Grand Marshal saw that the young man did not pretend. He asked him to wait a few minutes, and

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 workroom of a

countryhouse: 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

A door opened and closed. The Tsar made a sign to the Marshal, who disappeared. Rouletabille bowed low,

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

"Monsieur, I pray you not to interrupt me and not to speak unless I ask you a question."

"I am not duped by the pretext you have offered Monsieur le GrandMarechal in order to penetrate here."

"I say to you that, called here to aid me against my enemies, they themselves have not found a stronger or

"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!

"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

"Be careful, monsieur. I inform you that I have studied this affair personally and very closely. You have the

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

"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

"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

"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 Nihiists."

"I do not confess; I simply affirm that Natacha had an understanding with the Nihilists."

"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

"Sire, before revealing to you a secret on which depends the life of General Trebassof, you must permit me

"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 he 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

"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 a'mourpropre the greatest a ruler can suffer no sacrifice too dear to ransom from death

"Ah, ah! These gentlemen lay down conditions to me! Money. Money. They need money. And at how much

"Sire, that does not touch Your Majesty, and I never will come to offer you such a bargain. That matter

"She will have one at the death of the general. Now she engages to give it all to the Revolutionary Committee

"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 sercet. 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 he 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

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

"But, tell me, how have you learned all this? And who then has poisoned the general and his wife, in the

"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!"

"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

"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

"Michael Nikolaievitch knew Annouchka. There was certainly the point of departure for the negotiations

which that felonofficer, 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 penniIess 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

"Sire, Michael Nikolaievitch was a very clever man. He knew so well how to play upon Natacha, and

Annouchia, 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 Annoucbika 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

"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

"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

And Rouletabille recounted his sinister adventure, up to the moment of his death, or, rather, up to the moment

The Emperor listened to the young reporter with complete stupefaction. He murmured, "Poor lad!" then,

"Sire they have given me twentyfour 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,

"I will understand you, perhaps, when you have explained to me how Natacha has not poisoned her father and

"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.

"Logically, the only case would be that where no one had been poisoned, that is to say, where no one had

"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,

"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 medicinecloset after his illness commenced, in order to counteract the poison of

"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

"Then, in order to show Natacha's innocence, here is what must be proved: that Matrena Petrovna had the

"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 medicinecloset to

"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

"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 medicinecloset. She lied!

"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

"I got down from my gallowsscaffold, Your Majesty, to experiment on that timelimit. 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

"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 curiousenough theory of the nature of the

"But this is abominable!" cried the Emperor, this time definitely convinced by the intricate argument of

"The end of preventing the real crime! The end that she believed herself to have attained, Sire, to have

"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 stepdaughter'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

"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

"Not yet, Sire. I ask that you permit me not to be present at the confusion of that brave, heroic, good woman

The Emperor believed he had not heard correctly or did not grasp the meaning. He repeated what Rouletabille

"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?"

"Oh, Sire, they are not given yet. The general is sixtyfive, 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

The Tsar turned red and looked at the audacious young man, who met the gaze of His Majesty frankly.

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.

The reporter passed into a little salon, where he found the Marshal, Koupriane and Matrena Petrovna, who

She threw a suspicious glance at Rouletabille, who was not treated this morning as the dear little

domovoidoukh. She permitted herself to be conducted, already trembling, before the Emperor.

"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

"Such a promise! Such an attitude toward me!" cried Koupriane. "But I will wait for the Emperor to tell me

"We release her also, monsieur. Natacha never has been the monster that you think."

"Monsieur le Marechal, who had the imprudence to bring such dangerous grapes to the datcha des Iles, and

The sound of tears and sobs reached them. The grief and the remorse of Matrena Petrovna passed the walls of

Suddenly the Emperor appeared. He was in a state of exaltation such as had never been known in him.

"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

"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

"You are right," said the Tsar thoughtfully. "But, my friend, what am I to do for you?"

"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.

And it was thus that Joseph Rouletabille, of "L'Epoque," was created officer of St. Anne of Russia by the

"They combine the whole course of time in this country," thought Rouletabille, pressing his hand to his eyes

For the train at 10:55 everybody had crowded at TsarskoieCoelo 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 reembraced 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,

"It is the Emperor himself who has sent me," said the high dignitary with emotion. "He has sent me about the

"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!

The locomotive was puffing when a couple were seen running, a man and a woman. It was Monsieur and

"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 domovoidoukh, who had made her see everything in the right light, and whom she did not dare to

All the same, as the train took its way toward the frontier, Rouletabille threw himself back on the cushions,