The Secret of the Night

by Gaston Leroux

  II. NATACHA

  In the dining-room it was Thaddeus Tchnichnikoff's turn to tell huntingstories. He was the greatest timber-merchant in Lithuania. He ownedimmense forests and he loved Feodor Feodorovitch* as a brother, for theyhad played together all through their childhood, and once he had savedhim from a bear that was just about to crush his skull as one mightknock off a hat. General Trebassof's father was governor of Courlande atthat time, by the grace of God and the Little Father. Thaddeus, who wasjust thirteen years old, killed the bear with a single stroke of hisboar-spear, and just in time. Close ties were knit between the twofamilies by this occurrence, and though Thaddeus was neither noble-bornnor a soldier, Feodor considered him his brother and felt toward himas such. Now Thaddeus had become the greatest timber-merchant of thewestern provinces, with his own forests and also with his massive body,his fat, oily face, his bull-neck and his ample paunch. He quittedeverything at once--all his affairs, his family--as soon as he learnedof the first attack, to come and remain by the side of his dear comradeFeodor. He had done this after each attack, without forgetting one.He was a faithful friend. But he fretted because they might not gobear-hunting as in their youth. 'Where, he would ask, are there anybears remaining in Courlande, or trees for that matter, what you couldcall trees, growing since the days of the grand-dukes of Lithuania,giant trees that threw their shade right up to the very edge of thetowns? Where were such things nowadays? Thaddeus was very amusing,for it was he, certainly, who had cut them away tranquilly enoughand watched them vanish in locomotive smoke. It was what was calledProgress. Ah, hunting lost its national character assuredly with tinynew-growth trees which had not had time to grow. And, besides, onenowadays 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 woodcockearly in the morning. At this point in Thaddeus's conversation therewas a babble of talk among the convivial gentlemen, for they had all thetime in the world at their disposal and could not see why he should beso concerned about snatching a little while at morning or evening, orat midday for that matter. Champagne was flowing like a river whenRouletabille was brought in by Matrena Petrovna. The general, whose eyeshad been on the door for some time, cried at once, as though respondingto a cue:

  "Ah, my dear Rouletabille! I have been looking for you. Our friendswrote me you were coming to St. Petersburg."

  * In this story according to Russian habit General Trebassof is called alternately by that name or the family name Feodor Feodorovitch, and Madame Trebassof by that name or her family name, Matrena Petrovna.--Translator's Note.

  Rouletabille hurried over to him and they shook hands like friends whomeet after a long separation. The reporter was presented to the companyas a close young friend from Paris whom they had enjoyed so much duringtheir latest visit to the City of Light. Everybody inquired for thelatest word of Paris as of a dear acquaintance.

  "How is everybody at Maxim's?" urged the excellent Athanase Georgevitch.

  Thaddeus, too, had been once in Paris and he returned with anenthusiastic liking for the French demoiselles.

  "Vos gogottes, monsieur," he said, appearing very amiable and leaningon each word, with a guttural emphasis such as is common in the westernprovinces, "ah, vos gogottes!"

  Matrena Perovna tried to silence him, but Thaddeus insisted on his rightto appreciate the fair sex away from home. He had a turgid, sentimentalwife, always weeping and cramming her religious notions down his throat.

  Of course someone asked Rouletabille what he thought of Russia, but hehad no more than opened his mouth to reply than Athanase Georgevitchclosed it by interrupting:

  "Permettez! Permettez! You others, of the young generation, what do youknow of it? You need to have lived a long time and in all its districtsto appreciate Russia at its true value. Russia, my young sir, is as yeta closed book to you."

  "Naturally," Rouletabille answered, smiling.

  "Well, well, here's your health! What I would point out to you first ofall is that it is a good buyer of champagne, eh?"--and he gave a hugegrin. "But the hardest drinker I ever knew was born on the banks of theSeine. Did you know him, Feodor Feodorovitch? Poor Charles Dufour, whodied two years ago at fete of the officers of the Guard. He wagered atthe end of the banquet that he could drink a glassful of champagne tothe health of each man there. There were sixty when you came to countthem. He commenced the round of the table and the affair went splendidlyup to the fifty-eighth man. But at the fifty-ninth--think of themisfortune!--the champagne ran out! That poor, that charming, thatexcellent Charles took up a glass of vin dore which was in the glassof this fifty-ninth, wished him long life, drained the glass at onedraught, 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! Peaceto his ashes! They asked what he died of. I knew he died because of theinappropriate blend of flavors. There should be discipline in all thingsand not promiscuous mixing. One more glass of champagne and he wouldhave been drinking with us this evening. Your health, Matrena Petrovna.Champagne, Feodor Feodorovitch! Vive la France, monsieur! Natacha, mychild, you must sing something. Boris will accompany you on the guzla.Your father will enjoy it."

  All eyes turned toward Natacha as she rose.

  Rouletabille was struck by her serene beauty. That was the firstenthralling impression, an impression so strong it astonished him, theperfect serenity, the supreme calm, the tranquil harmony of her noblefeatures. Natacha was twenty. Heavy brown hair circled about er foreheadand was looped about her ears, which were half-concealed. Her profilewas clear-cut; her mouth was strong and revealed between red, firm lipsthe even pearliness of her teeth. She was of medium height. In walkingshe had the free, light step of the highborn maidens who, in primaltimes, pressed the flowers as they passed without crushing them. But allher true grace seemed to be concentrated in her eyes, which were deepand of a dark blue. The impression she made upon a beholder was verycomplex. And it would have been difficult to say whether the calm whichpervaded every manifestation of her beauty was the result of consciouscontrol or the most perfect ease.

  She took down the guzla and handed it to Boris, who struck someplaintive preliminary chords.

  "What shall I sing?" she inquired, raising her father's hand from theback of the sofa where he rested and kissing it with filial tenderness.

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

  "Oh, yes," cried Boris; "improvise as you did the other evening."

  He immediately struck a minor chord.

  Natacha looked fondly at her father as she sang:

  "When the moment comes that parts us at the close of day, when the Angel of Sleep covers you with azure wings; "Oh, may your eyes rest from so many tears, and your oppressed heart have calm; "In each moment that we have together, Father dear, let our souls feel harmony sweet and mystical; "And when your thoughts may have flown to other worlds, oh, may my image, at least, nestle within your sleeping eyes."

  Natacha's voice was sweet, and the charm of it subtly pervasive. Thewords as she uttered them seemed to have all the quality of a prayer andthere were tears in all eyes, excepting those of Michael Korsakoff, thesecond orderly, whom Rouletabille appraised as a man with a rough heartnot much open to sentiment.

  "Feodor Feodorovitch," said this officer, when the young girl's voicehad faded away into the blending with the last note of the guzla,"Feodor Feodorovitch is a man and a glorious soldier who is able tosleep in peace, because he has labored for his country and for hisCzar."

  "Yes, yes. Labored well! A glorious soldier!" repeated AthanaseGeorgevitch and Ivan Petrovitch. "Well may he sleep peacefully."

  "Natacha sang like an angel," said Boris, the first orderly, in atremulous voice.

  "Like an angel, Boris Nikolaievitch. But why did she speak of his heartoppressed? I don't see that General Trebassof has a heart oppressed, formy part." Michael Korsakoff spoke roughly as he drained h
is glass.

  "No, that's so, isn't it?" agreed the others.

  "A young girl may wish her father a pleasant sleep, surely!" saidMatrena Petrovna, with a certain good sense. "Natacha has affected usall, has she not, Feodor?"

  "Yes, she made me weep," declared the general. "But let us havechampagne to cheer us up. Our young friend here will think we arechicken-hearted."

  "Never think that," said Rouletabille. "Mademoiselle has touched medeeply as well. She is an artist, really a great artist. And a poet."

  "He is from Paris; he knows," said the others.

  And all drank.

  Then they talked about music, with great display of knowledge concerningthings operatic. First one, then another went to the piano and ranthrough some motif that the rest hummed a little first, then shouted ina rousing chorus. Then they drank more, amid a perfect fracas of talkand laughter. Ivan Petrovitch and Athanase Georgevitch walked across andkissed the general. Rouletabille saw all around him great children whoamused themselves with unbelievable naivete and who drank in a fashionmore unbelievable still. Matrena Petrovna smoked cigarettes of yellowtobacco incessantly, rising almost continually to make a hurriedround of the rooms, and after having prompted the servants to greaterwatchfulness, sat and looked long at Rouletabille, who did not stir, butcaught 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 withobvious impatience, still strumming the guzla. But the thing that struckRouletabille's youthful imagination beyond all else was the mild face ofthe general. He had not imagined the terrible Trebassof with so paternaland sympathetic an expression. The Paris papers had printed redoubtablepictures of him, more or less authentic, but the arts of photography andengraving had cut vigorous, rough features of an official--who knew nopity. Such pictures were in perfect accord with the idea one naturallyhad of the dominating figure of the government at Moscow, the man who,during eight days--the Red Week--had made so many corpses of studentsand workmen that the halls of the University and the factories hadopened their doors since in vain. The dead would have had to arise forthose places to be peopled! Days of terrible battle where in one quarteror another of the city there was naught but massacre or burnings, untilMatrena Petrovna and her step-daughter, Natacha (all the papers told ofit), had fallen on their knees before the general and begged terms forthe last of the revolutionaries, at bay in the Presnia quarter, and hadbeen refused by him. "War is war," had been his answer, with irrefutablelogic. "How can you ask mercy for these men who never give it?" Be itsaid 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 Parisjournalist, "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 failto see what they reproach me with. I have served my master as a braveand loyal subject, no more, and, after the fighting, I have let othersferret out the children that had hidden under their mothers' skirts.Everybody talks of the repression of Moscow, but let us speak, myfriend, of the Commune. There was a piece of work I would not havedone, to massacre within a court an unresisting crowd of men, women andchildren. I am a rough and faithful soldier of His Majesty, but I amnot a monster, and I have the feelings of a husband and father, my dearmonsieur. Tell your readers that, if you care to, and do not surmisefurther about whether I appear to regret being condemned to death."

  Certainly what stupefied Rouletabille now was this staunch figure ofthe condemned man who appeared so tranquilly to enjoy his life. When thegeneral was not furthering the gayety of his friends he was talking withhis wife and daughter, who adored him and continually fondled him, andhe seemed perfectly happy. With his enormous grizzly mustache, his ruddycolor, his keen, piercing eyes, he looked the typical spoiled father.

  The reporter studied all these widely-different types and made hisobservations while pretending to a ravenous appetite, which served,moreover, to fix him in the good graces of his hosts of the datcha desIles. But, in reality, he passed the food to an enormous bull-dogunder the table, in whose good graces he was also thus firmly plantinghimself. As Trebassof had prayed his companions to let his young friendsatisfy his ravening hunger in peace, they did not concern themselves toentertain him. Then, too, the music served to distract attention fromhim, and at a moment somewhat later, when Matrena Petrovna turned tospeak to the young man, she was frightened at not seeing him. Where hadhe gone? She went out into the veranda and looked. She did not dare tocall. She walked into the grand-salon and saw the reporter just as hecame out of the sitting-room.

  "Where were you?" she inquired.

  "The sitting-room is certainly charming, and decorated exquisitely,"complimented Rouletabille. "It seems almost a boudoir."

  "It does serve as a boudoir for my step-daughter, whose bedroom opensdirectly from it; you see the door there. It is simply for the presentthat the luncheon table is set there, because for some time the policehave pre-empted the veranda."

  "Is your dog a watch-dog, madame?" asked Rouletabille, caressing thebeast, which had followed him.

  "Khor is faithful and had guarded us well hitherto."

  "He sleeps now, then?"

  "Yes. Koupriane has him shut in the lodge to keep him from barkingnights. Koupriane fears that if he is out he will devour one of thepolice who watch in the garden at night. I wanted him to sleep in thehouse, or by his master's door, or even at the foot of the bed, butKoupriane said, 'No, no; no dog. Don't rely on the dog. Nothing is moredangerous than to rely on the dog. 'Since then he has kept Khor lockedup at night. But I do not understand Koupriane's idea."

  "Monsieur Koupriane is right," said the reporter. "Dogs are useful onlyagainst strangers."

  "Oh," gasped the poor woman, dropping her eyes. "Koupriane certainlyknows his business; he thinks of everything."

  "Come," she added rapidly, as though to hide her disquiet, "do notgo out like that without letting me know. They want you in thedining-room."

  "I must have you tell me right now about this attempt."

  "In the dining-room, in the dining-room. In spite of myself," she saidin a low voice, "it is stronger than I am. I am not able to leave thegeneral by himself while he is on the ground-floor."

  She drew Rouletabille into the dining-room, where the gentlemen were nowtelling odd stories of street robberies amid loud laughter. Natacha wasstill talking with Michael Korsakoff; Boris, whose eyes never quittedthem, was as pale as the wax on his guzla, which he rattled violentlyfrom time to time. Matrena made Rouletabille sit in a corner of thesofa, near her, and, counting on her fingers like a careful housewifewho does not wish to overlook anything in her domestic calculations, shesaid:

  "There have been three attempts; the first two in Moscow. The firsthappened very simply. The general knew he had been condemned todeath. They had delivered to him at the palace in the afternoon therevoluntionary poster which proclaimed his intended fate to the wholecity 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 andasked what he was going to do. He said he was going to drive quietlythrough all parts of the city, in order to show the Muscovites that agovernor appointed according to law by the Little Father and who had inhis conscience only the sense that he had done his full duty was not tobe intimidated. It was nearly four o'clock, toward the end of a winterday that had been clear and bright, but very cold. I wrapped myselfin 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 westarted. At first we drove along the Naberjnaia. The sleigh glided likethe wind. The general hit the driver a heavy blow in the back, crying,'Slower, fool; they will think we are afraid,' and so the horseswere almost walking when, passing behind the Church of Protection andintercession, we reached the Place Rouge. Until then the few passers-byhad looked at us, and
as they recognized him, hurried along to keephim in view. At the Place Rouge there was only a little knot of womenkneeling before the Virgin. As soon as these women saw us and recognizedthe equipage of the Governor, they dispersed like a flock of crows, withfrightened cries. Feodor laughed so hard that as we passed underthe vault of the Virgin his laugh seemed to shake the stones. I feltreassured, monsieur. Our promenade continued without any remarkableincident. The city was almost deserted. Everything lay prostrated underthe awful blow of that battle in the street. Feodor said, 'Ah, they giveme a wide berth; they do not know how much I love them," and all throughthat promenade he said many more charming and delicate things to me.

  "As we were talking pleasantly under our furs we came to la PlaceKoudrinsky, 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 thehouses to right and left were visible only as masses of shadow. Weglided over the snow like a boat along the river in foggy calm. Then,suddenly, we heard piercing cries and saw shadows of soldiers rushingaround, with movements that looked larger than human through the mist;their short whips looked enormous as they knocked some other shadowsthat we saw down like logs. The general stopped the sleigh and got outto see what was going on. I got out with him. They were soldiers of thefamous Semenowsky regiment, who had two prisoners, a young man and achild. The child was being beaten on the nape of the neck. It writhedon the ground and cried in torment. It couldn't have been more than nineyears old. The other, the young man, held himself up and marchedalong without a single cry as the thongs fell brutally upon him. I wasappalled. I did not give my husband time to open his mouth before Icalled to the subaltern who commanded the detachment, 'You should beashamed to strike a child and a Christian like that, which cannot defenditself.' The general told him the same thing. Then the subaltern toldus that the little child had just killed a lieutenant in the street byfiring a revolver, which he showed us, and it was the biggest one Iever have seen, and must have been as heavy for that infant to lift as asmall cannon. It was unbelievable.

  "'And the other,' demanded the general; 'what has he done?'

  "'He is a dangerous student,' replied the subaltern, 'who has deliveredhimself up as a prisoner because he promised the landlord of the housewhere he lives that he would do it to keep the house from being battereddown with cannon.'

  "'But that is right of him. Why do you beat him?'

  "'Because he has told us he is a dangerous student.'

  "'That is no reason,' Feodor told him. 'He will be shot if he deservesit, and the child also, but I forbid you to beat him. You have not beenfurnished with these whips in order to beat isolated prisoners, but tocharge the crowd when it does not obey the governor's orders. In such acase 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 badlycompensed for it, very badly, I tell you. The student was trulydangerous, because he had no sooner heard my husband say, 'I am GeneralTrebassof, your governor,' than he cried, 'Ah, is it you, Trebassoff'and drew a revolver from no one knows where and fired straight atthe general, almost against his breast. But the general was not hit,happily, nor I either, who was by him and had thrown myself onto thestudent to disarm him and then was tossed about at the feet of thesoldiers in the battle they waged around the student while the revolverwas going off. Three soldiers were killed. You can understand that theothers 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 onthe ground. The subaltern struck his face a blow that might have blindedhim. 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 andFeodor himself carried him to the sleigh and laid him with the deadmen. Then he took charge of the soldiers and led them to the barracks.I followed, as a sort of after-guard. We returned to the palace an hourlater. It was quite dark by then, and almost at the entrance to thepalace we were shot at by a group of revolutionaries who passed swiftlyin two sleighs and disappeared in the darkness so fast that they couldnot be overtaken. I had a ball in my toque. The general had not beentouched this time either, but our furs were ruined by the blood of thedead soldiers which they had forgotten to clean out of the sleigh. Thatwas the first attempt, which meant little enough, after all, because itwas fighting in the open. It was some days later that they commenced totry assassination."

  At this moment Ermolai brought in four bottles of champagne and Thaddeusstruck lightly on the piano.

  "Quickly, madame, the second attempt," said Rouletabille, who wasaking hasty notes on his cuff, never ceasing, meanwhile, to watch theconvivial group and listening with both ears wide open to Matrena.

  "The second happened still in Moscow. We had had a jolly dinner becausewe thought that at last the good old days were back and good citizenscould live in peace; and Boris had tried out the guzla singing songs ofthe Orel country to please me; he is so fine and sympathetic. Natachahad gone somewhere or other. The sleigh was waiting at the door and wewent out and got in. Almost instantly there was a fearful noise, and wewere thrown out into the snow, both the general and me. There remainedno trace of sleigh or coachman; the two horses were disemboweled, twomagnificent piebald horses, my dear young monsieur, that the generalwas so attached to. As to Feodor, he had that serious wound in his rightleg; the calf was shattered. I simply had my shoulder a little wrenched,practically nothing. The bomb had been placed under the seat of theunhappy coachman, whose hat alone we found, in a pool of blood. Fromthat attack the general lay two months in bed. In the second month theyarrested two servants who were caught one night on the landing leadingto the upper floor, where they had no business, and after that I sentat once for our old domestics in Orel to come and serve us. Itwas discovered that these detected servants were in touch withthe revolutionaries, so they were hanged. The Emperor appointed aprovisional governor, and now that the general was better we decidedon a convalescence for him in the midi of France. We took train forSt. Petersburg, but the journey started high fever in my husband andreopened the wound in his calf. The doctors ordered absolute rest and sowe settled here in the datcha des Iles. Since then, not a day has passedwithout the general receiving an anonymous letter telling him thatnothing can save him from the revenge of the revolutionaries. He isbrave and only smiles over them, but for me, I know well that so long aswe are in Russia we have not a moment's security. So I watch him everyminute and let no one approach him except his intimate friends and usof the family. I have brought an old gniagnia who watched me grow up,Ermolai, and the Orel servants. In the meantime, two months later, thethird attempt suddenly occurred. It is certainly of them all the mostfrightening, 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 muchhubbub that nothing else could be heard. Feodor Feodorovitch was soamused that he had tears in his eyes. Rouletabille said to himselfas Matrena talked, "I never have seen men so gay, and yet they knowperfectly they are apt to be blown up all together any moment."

  General Trebassof, who had steadily watched Rouletabille, who, for thatmatter, had been kept in eye by everyone there, said:

  "Eh, eh, monsieur le journaliste, you find us very gay?"

  "I find you very brave," said Rouletabille quietly.

  "How is that?" said Feodor Feodorovitch, smiling.

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

  He indicated the general's wounded leg.

  "The chances of war! the chances of war!" said the general. "A leg here,an arm there. But, as you see, I am still here. They will end by growingtired and leaving me in peace. Your health, my friend!"

  "Your health, general!"

  "You understand," continued Feodor Feodorovitch, "there is no occasionto excite ourselves. It is our business to defend the empire at theperil
of our lives. We find that quite natural, and there is no occasionto think of it. I have had terrors enough in other directions, not tospeak of the terrors of love, that are more ferocious than you canyet imagine. Look at what they did to my poor friend the Chief of theSurete, Boichlikoff. He was commendable certainly. There was a braveman. Of an evening, when his work was over, he always left the bureau ofthe prefecture and went to join his wife and children in their apartmentin the ruelle des Loups. Not a soldier! No guard! The others had everychance. One evening a score of revolutionaries, after having driven awaythe terrorized servants, mounted to his apartments. He was dining withhis 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 readhim his death-sentence. A fine end that to a dinner!"

  As he listened Rouletabille paled and he kept his eyes on the door asif he expected to see it open of itself, giving access to ferociousNihilists of whom one, with a paper in his hand, would read the sentenceof death to Feodor Feodorovitch. Rouletabille's stomach was not yetseasoned to such stories. He almost regretted, momentarily, havingtaken the terrible responsibility of dismissing the police. After whatKoupriane had confided to him of things that had happened in this house,he had not hesitated to risk everything on that audacious decision, butall the same, all the same--these stories of Nihilists who appear at theend of a meal, death-sentence in hand, they haunted him, they upset him.Certainly it had been a piece of foolhardiness to dismiss the police!

  "Well," he asked, conquering his misgivings and resuming, as always, hisconfidence in himself, "then, what did they do then, after reading thesentence?"

  "The Chief of the Surete knew he had no time to spare. He did not askfor it. The revolutionaries ordered him to bid his family farewell.He raised his wife, his children, clasped them, bade them be of goodcourage, then said he was ready. They took him into the street. Theystood him against a wall. His wife and children watched from a window.A volley sounded. They descended to secure the body, pierced withtwenty-five bullets."

  "That was exactly the number of wounds that were made on the body oflittle Jacques Zloriksky," came in the even tones of Natacha.

  "Oh, you, you always find an excuse," grumbled the general. "PoorBoichlikoff did his duty, as I did mine.

  "Yes, papa, you acted like a soldier. That is what the revolutionariesought not to forget. But have no fears for us, papa; because if theykill you we will all die with you."

  "And gayly too," declared Athanase Georgevitch.

  "They should come this evening. We are in form!"

  Upon which Athanase filled the glasses again.

  "None the less, permit me to say," ventured the timber-merchant,Thaddeus Tchnitchnikof, timidly, "permit me to say that this Boichlikoffwas very imprudent."

  "Yes, indeed, very gravely imprudent," agreed Rouletabille. "When a manhas had twenty-five good bullets shot into the body of a child, he oughtcertainly 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 himthat it was a little inconsistent to express such opinions, seeing whathe had done with the guard over the general.

  "Ah," cried Athanase Georgevitch, in a stage-struck voice, "Ah, it wasnot imprudence! It was contempt of death! Yes, it was contempt of deaththat killed him! Even as the contempt of death keeps us, at this moment,in perfect health. To you, ladies and gentlemen! Do you know anythinglovelier, grander, in the world than contempt of death? Gaze on FeodorFeodorovitch and answer me. Superb! My word, superb! To you all! Therevolutionaries who are not of the police are of the same mind regardingour heroes. They may curse the tchinownicks who execute the terribleorders given them by those higher up, but those who are not of thepolice (there are some, I believe)--these surely recognize that men likethe Chief of the Surete our dead friend, are brave."

  "Certainly," endorsed the general. "Counting all things, they need moreheroism for a promenade in a salon than a soldier on a battle-field."

  "I have met some of these men," continued Athanase in exalted vein. "Ihave found in all their homes the same--imprudence, as our young Frenchfriend calls it. A few days after the assassination of the Chief ofPolice in Moscow I was received by his successor in the same place wherethe assassination had occurred. He did not take the slightest precautionwith me, whom he did not know at all, nor with men of the middle classwho came to present their petitions, in spite of the fact that it wasunder precisely identical conditions that his predecessor had beenslain. Before I left I looked over to where on the floor there had sorecently occurred such agony. They had placed a rug there and on the ruga table, and on that table there was a book. Guess what book. 'Women'sStockings,' by Willy! And--and then--Your health, Matrena Petrovna.What's the odds!"

  "You yourselves, my friends," declared the general, "prove your greatcourage by coming to share the hours that remain of my life with me."

  "Not at all, not at all! It is war."

  "Yes, it is war."

  "Oh, there's no occasion to pat us on the shoulder, Athanase," insistedThaddeus modestly. "What risk do we run? We are well guarded."

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

  Michael Korsakoff, who had been for a turn in the garden, entered duringthe remark.

  "Be happy, then, Athanase Georgevitch," said he, "for there are now nopolice around the villa."

  "Where are they?" inquired the timber-merchant uneasily.

  "An order came from Koupriane to remove them," explained MatrenaPetrovna, who exerted herself to appear calm.

  "And are they not replaced?" asked Michael.

  "No. It is incomprehensible. There must have been some confusion in theorders given." And Matrena reddened, for she loathed a lie and it wasin tribulation of spirit that she used this fable under Rouletabille'sdirections.

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

  Athanase was naturally of the same mind as the general, and whenThaddeus and Ivan Petrovitch and the orderlies offered to pass thenight at the villa and take the place of the absent police, FeodorFeodorovitch caught a gesture from Rouletabille which disapproved theidea 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! Tolive as everyone else does. We shall be all right. Koupriane and I havearranged 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 explainfurther. You will go home to bed--and we will all sleep. Those are theorders. Besides, you must remember that the guard-post is only a stepfrom here, at the corner of the road, and we have only to give a signalto bring them all here. But--more secret agents or special police--no,no! Good-night. All of us to bed now!"

  They did not insist further. When Feodor had said, "Those are theorders," there was room for nothing more, not even in the way of politeinsistence.

  But before going to their beds all went into the veranda, whereliqueurs were served by the brave Ermolai, as always. Matrena pushedthe wheel-chair of the general there, and he kept repeating, "No, no. Nomore such people. No more police. They only bring trouble."

  "Feodor! Feodor!" sighed Matrena, whose anxiety deepened in spite of allshe could do, "they watched over your dear life."

  "Life is dear to me only because of you, Matrena Petrovna."

  "And not at all because of me, papa?" said Natacha.

  "Oh, Natacha!"

  He took both her hands in his. It was an affecting glimpse of familyintimacy.

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

  "It gets better," said he. "It gets better."

  Then melancholy showed in his rugged face, and he watche
d night deepenover the isles, the golden night of St. Petersburg. It was not quite yetthe time of year for what they call the golden nights there, the "whitenights," nights which never deepen to darkness, but they were alreadybeautiful 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, bytwilight and dawn.

  From the height of the veranda one of the most beautiful bits of theisles lay in view, and the hour was so lovely that its charm thrilledthese people, of whom several, as Thaddeus, were still close to nature.It was he, first, who called to Natacha:

  "Natacha! Natacha! Sing us your 'Soir des Iles.'"

  Natacha's voice floated out upon the peace of the islands under thedim arched sky, light and clear as a night rose, and the guzla of Borisaccompanied it. Natacha sang:

  "This is the night of the Isles--at the north of the world. The skypresses in its stainless arms the bosom of earth, Night kisses the rosethat dawn gave to the twilight. And the night air is sweet and freshfrom across the shivering gulf, Like the breath of young girls from theworld still farther north. Beneath the two lighted horizons, sinking andrising at once, The sun rolls rebounding from the gods at the north ofthe world. In this moment, beloved, when in the clear shadows of thisrose-stained evening I am here alone with you, Respond, respond with aheart less timid to the holy, accustomed cry of 'Good-evening.'"

  Ah, how Boris Nikolaievitch and Michael Korsakoff watched her as shesang! Truly, no one ever can guess the anger or the love that broods ina Slavic heart under a soldier's tunic, whether the soldier wisely playsat the guzla, as the correct Boris, or merely lounges, twirling hismustache with his manicured and perfumed fingers, like Michael, theindifferent.

  Natacha ceased singing, but all seemed to be listening to her still--theconvivial group on the terrace appeared to be held in charmed attention,and the porcelain statuettes of men on the lawn, according to the modeof the Iles, seemed to lift on their short legs the better to hear passthe sighing harmony of Natacha in the rose nights at the north of theworld.

  Meanwhile Matrena wandered through the house from cellar to attic,watching over her husband like a dog on guard, ready to bite, to throwitself in the way of danger, to receive the blows, to die for itsmaster--and hunting for Rouletabille, who had disappeared again.