XIII. THE LIVING BOMBS
At random--because now he could only act at random--he returned to thedatcha. Great disorder reigned there. The guard had been doubled. Thegeneral's friends, summoned by Trebassof, surrounded the two poisonedsufferers and filled the house with their bustling devotion and theirprotestations of affection. However, an insignificant doctor from thecommon quarter of the Vasili-Ostrow, brought by the police, reassuredeverybody. The police had not found the general's household physician athome, but promised the immediate arrival of two specialists, whom theyhad found instead. In the meantime they had picked up on the way thislittle doctor, who was gay and talkative as a magpie. He had enoughto do looking after Matrena Petrovna, who had been so sick that herhusband, Feodor Feodorovitch, still trembled, "for the first time in hislife," as the excellent Ivan Petrovitch said.
The reporter was astonished at not finding Natacha either in Matrena'sapartment or Feodor's. He asked Matrena where her step-daughter was.Matrena turned a frightened face toward him. When they were alone, shesaid:
"We do not know where she is. Almost as soon as you left shedisappeared, and no one has seen her since. The general has asked forher several times. I have had to tell him Koupriane took her with him tolearn the details from her of what happened."
"She is not with Koupriane," said Rouletabille.
"Where is she? This disappearance is more than strange at the moment wewere dying, when her father--O God! Leave me, my child; I am stifling; Iam stifling."
Rouletabille called the temporary doctor and withdrew from the chamber.He had come with the idea of inspecting the house room by room, cornerby corner, to make sure whether or not any possibility of entranceexisted that he had not noticed before, an entrance would-be poisonerswere continuing to use. But now a new fact confronted him andovershadowed everything: the disappearance of Natacha. How he lamentedhis ignorance of the Russian language--and not one of Koupriane's menknew French. He might draw something out of Ermolai.
Ermolai said he had seen Natacha just outside the gate for a moment,looking up and down the road. Then he had been called to the general,and so knew nothing further.
That was all the reporter could gather from the gestures rather than thewords of the old servant.
An additional difficulty now was that twilight drew on, and it wasimpossible for the reporter to discern Natacha's foot-prints. Was ittrue that the young girl had fled at such a moment, immediately afterthe poisoning, before she knew whether her father and mother wereentirely out of danger? If Natacha were innocent, as Rouletabille stillwished to believe, such an attitude was simply incomprehensible. And thegirl could not but be aware she would increase Koupriane's suspicions.The reporter had a vital reason for seeing her immediately, a vitalreason for all concerned, above all in this moment when the Nihilistswere culminating their plans, a vital reason for her and for him,equally menaced with death, to talk with her and to renew thepropositions he had made a few minutes before the poisoning and whichshe had not wished to hear him talk about, in fearful pity for him or indefiance of him. Where was Natacha? He thought maybe she was tryingto rejoin Annouchka, and there were reasons for that, both if she wereinnocent and if she were guilty. But where was Annouchka? Who could say!Gounsovski perhaps. Rouletabille jumped into an isvo, returning from thePoint empty, and gave Gounsovski's address. He deigned then to recallthat he had been invited that same day to dine with the Gounsovskis.They would no longer be expecting him. He blamed himself.
They received him, but they had long since finished dinner.
Monsieur and Madame Gounsovski were playing a game of draughts underthe lamp. Rouletabille as he entered the drawing-room recognized theshining, fattish bald head of the terrible man. Gounsovski came to him,bowing, obsequious, his fat hands held out. He was presented to MadameGounsovski, who was besprinkled with jewels over her black silk gown.She had a muddy skin and magnificent eyes. She also was tentativelyeffusive. "We waited for you, monsieur," she said, smirking timidly,with the careful charm of a woman a little along in years who reliesstill on infantine graces. As the recreant young man offered hisapologies, "Oh, we know you are much occupied, Monsieur Rouletabille.My husband said that to me only a moment ago. But he knew you would comefinally. In the end one always accepts my husband's invitation." Shesaid this with a fat smile of importance.
Rouletabille turned cold at this last phrase. He felt actual fear inthe presence of these two figures, so atrociously commonplace, in theirhorrible, decent little drawing-room.
Madame continued:
"But you have had rather a bad dinner already, through that dreadfulaffair at General Trebassof's. Come into the dining-room." "Ah, sosomeone has told you?" said Rouletabille. "No, no, thanks; I don't needanything more. You know what has happened?"
"If you had come to dinner, perhaps nothing would have happened at all,you know," said Gounsovski tranquilly, seating himself again on thecushions and considering his game of draughts through his glasses."Anyway, congratulations to Koupriane for being away from there throughhis fear."
For Gounsovski there was only Koupriane! The life or death of Trebassofdid not occupy his mind. Only the acts and movements of the Prefect ofPolice had power to move him. He ordered a waiting-maid who glided intothe apartment without making more noise than a shadow to bring a smallstand loaded with zakouskis and bottles of champagne close to thegame-table, and he moved one of his pawns, saying, "You will permit me?This move is mine. I don't wish to lose it."
Rouletabille ventured to lay his hand on the oily, hairy fist whichextended from a dubious cuff.
"What is this you tell me? How could you have foreseen it?"
"It was easy to foresee everything," replied Gounsovski, offeringcigars, "to foresee everything from the moment Matiew's place was filledby Priemkof."
"Well?" questioned Rouletabille, recalling with some inquietude thesight of the whipping in the guards' chapel.
"Well, this Priemkof, between ourselves," (and he bent close to thereporter's ear) "is no better, as a police-guard for Koupriane thanMatiew himself. Very dangerous. So when I learned that he took Matiew'splace at the datcha des Iles, I thought there was sure to be someunfortunate happening. But it was no affair of mine, was it? Kouprianewould have been able to say to me, 'Mind your own business.' I had gonefar enough in warning him of the 'living bombs.' They had been denouncedto 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 atCronstadt after the rebellion in the fleet. Let him recall that. Thatought 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 allelse between us! I wouldn't talk to you as I do if I didn't know theTsar honors you with his favor. Then I invited you to dinner. As onedines one talks. But you did not come. And, while you were dining downthere and while Priemkof was on guard at the datcha, that annoyingaffair Madame Gounsovski has spoken about happened."
Rouletabille had not sat down, in spite of Madame Gounsovski'sinsistences. He took the box of cigars brusquely out of the hand of theChief of the Secret Service, who had continued tendering them, for thisdetail of hospitality only annoyed his mood, which had been dark enoughfor hours and was now deepened by what the other had just said. Hecomprehended only one thing, that a man named Priemkof, whom he hadnever heard spoken of, as determined as Matiew to destroy the general,had been entrusted by Koupriane with the guard of the datcha des Iles.It was necessary to warn Koupriane instantly.
"How is it that you have not done so already, yourself, MonsieurGounsovski? Why wait to speak about it to me? It is unimaginable."
"Pardon, pardon," said Gounsovski, smiling softly behind his goggles;"it is not the same thing."
"No, no, it is not the same thing," seconded the lady with the blacksilk, brilliant jewels and flabby chin. "We speak here to a friend inthe course of dinner-talk, to a friend who is not of the police. Wenever denounce anybody."
"We must tell you. But
sit down now," Gounsovski still insisted,lighting his cigar. "Be reasonable. They have just tried to poison him,so they will take time to breathe before they try something else. Then,too, this poison makes me think they may have given up the idea ofliving bombs. Then, after all, what is to be will be."
"Yes, yes," approved the ample dame. "The police never have been ableto prevent what was bound to happen. But, speaking of this Priemkof, itremains between us, eh? Between just us?"
"Yes, we must tell you now," Gounsovski slipped in softly, "that it willbe much better not to let Koupriane know that you got the informationfrom me. Because then, you understand, he would not believe you; or,rather, he would not believe me. That is why we take these precautionsof dining and smoking a cigar. We speak of one thing and another andyou do as you please with what we say. But, to make them useful, it isabsolutely necessary, I repeat, to be silent about their source." (Ashe said that, Gounsovski gave Rouletabille a piercing glance through hisgoggles, 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 hisfault, it is necessary to say. Then he got into Koupriane's confidenceby saying the worst he could of us, my dear little monsieur."
"But what could he say?--servants' stories! my dear little monsieur,"repeated the fat dame, and rolled her great magnificent black eyesfuriously. "Stories that have been treated as they deserved at Court,certainly. Madame Daquin, the wife of His Majesty's head-cook, whomyou certainly know, and the nephew of the second Maid of Honor to theEmpress, who stands very well with his aunt, have told us so; servants'stories that might have ruined us but have not produced any effect onHis Majesty, for whom we would give our lives, Christ knows. Well,you understand now that if you were to say to Koupriane, 'GaspadineGounsovski has spoken ill to me of Priemkof,' he would not care to heara 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 thepoisoning. That poisoning is certainly very astonishing, between us. Itdoes not appear to have come from without, whereas the living bombs willhave 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 cantell tales; it isn't hard to do. He has got to make some showing now ifhe is to keep in with Annouchka's clique."
"Koupriane, our dear Koupriane," interrupted Gounsovski, slightlytroubled at hearing his wife pronounce Annouchka's name, "Kouprianeought to be able to understand that this time Priemkof must bring thingsoff, or he is definitely ruined."
"Priemkof knows it well enough," replied Madame as she re-filled theglasses, "but Koupriane doesn't know it; that is all we can tell you. Isit enough? All the rest is mere gossip."
It certainly was enough for Rouletabille; he had had enough of it! Thisidle gossip and these living bombs! These pinchbecks, thesewhispering tale-tellers in their bourgeois, countrified setting; thesepolitico-police combinations whose grotesque side was always uppermost;while the terrible side, the Siberian aspect, prisons, black holes,hangings, disappearances, exiles and deaths and martyrdoms remainedso jealously hidden that no one ever spoke of them! All that weight ofhorror, between a good cigar and "a little glass of anisette, monsieur,if you won't take champagne." Still, he had to drink before heleft, touch glasses in a health, promise to come again, whenever hewished--the house was open to him. Rouletabille knew it was open toanybody--anybody who had a tale to tell, something that would sendsome other person to prison or to death and oblivion. No guard at theentrance to check a visitor--men entered Gounsovski's house as the houseof a friend, and he was always ready to do you a service, certainly!
He accompanied the reporter to the stairs. Rouletabille was just aboutto risk speaking of Annouchka to him, in order to approach the subjectof Natacha, when Gounsovski said suddenly, with a singular smile:
"By the way, do you still believe in Natacha Trebassof?"
"I shall believe in her until my death," Rouletabille thrust back; "butI admit to you that at this moment I don't know where she has gone."
"Watch the Bay of Lachtka, and come to tell me to-morrow if you willbelieve in her always," replied Gounsovski, confidentially, with ahorrid 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 therevolutionaries not only, but all the Russian police as well--andGounsovski himself, and Koupriane! Everybody, everybody! But mosturgent was Priemkof and his living bombs. What a strange and almostincomprehensible and harassing adventure this was between Nihilism andthe Russian police. Koupriane and Gounsovski both employed a man theyknew to be a revolutionary and the friend of revolutionaries. Nihilism,on its side, considered this man of the police force as one of itsown agents. In his turn, this man, in order to maintain his perilousequilibrium, had to do work for both the police and the revolutionaries,and accept whatever either gave him to do as it came, because itwas necessary he should give them assurances of his fidelity. Onlyimbeciles, like Gapone, let themselves be hanged or ended by beingexecuted, like Azef, because of their awkward slips. But a Priemkof,playing both branches of the police, had a good chance of living a longtime, and a Gounsovski would die tranquilly in his bed with all thesolaces of religion.
However, the young hearts hot with sincerity, sheathed with dynamite,are mysteriously moved in the atrocious darkness of Holy Russia, andthey 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 hateand love--living bombs!*
* In the trial after the revolt at Cronstadt two young women were charged with wearing bombs as false bosoms.
At the corner of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok Rouletabille came in the wayof Koupriane, who was leaving for Pere Alexis's place and, seeing thereporter, stopped his carriage and called that he was going immediatelyto the datcha.
"You have seen Pere Alexis?"
"Yes," said Koupriane. "And this time I have it on you. What I told you,what I foresaw, has happened. But have you any news of the sufferers?Apropos, rather a curious thing has happened. I met Kister on the Newskyjust now."
"The physician?"
"Yes, one of Trebassof's physicians whom I had sent an inspector to hishouse to fetch to the datcha, as well as his usual associate, DoctorLitchkof. Well, neither Litchkof nor he had been summoned. Theydidn't know anything had happened at the datcha. They had not seen myinspector. I hope he has met some other doctor on the way and, in viewof the urgency, has taken him to the datcha."
"That is what has happened," replied Rouletabille, who had turned verypale. "Still, it is strange these gentlemen had not been notified,because at the datcha the Trebassofs were told that the general's usualdoctors were not at home and so the police had summoned two others whowould arrive at once."
Koupriane jumped up in the carriage.
"But Kister and Litchkof had not left their houses. Kister, who had justmet Litchkof, said so. What does this mean?"
"Can you tell me," asked Rouletabille, ready now for the thunder-clapthat his question invited, "the name of the inspector you ordered tobring them?"
"Priemkof, a man with my entire confidence."
Koupriane's carriage rushed toward the Isles. Late evening had come.Alone on the deserted route the horses seemed headed for the stars; thecarriage behind seemed no drag upon them. The coachman bent above them,arms out, as though he would spring into the ether. Ah, the beautifulnight, the lovely, peaceful night beside the Neva, marred by the wildgallop of these maddened horses!
"Priemkof! Priemkof! One of Gounsovski's men! I should have suspectedhim," railed Koupriane after Rouletabille's explanations. "But now,shall we arrive in time?"
They stood up in the carriage, urging the coachman, exciting
the horses:"Scan! Scan! Faster, douriak!" Could they arrive before the "livingbombs"? Could they hear them before they arrived? Ah, there wasEliaguine!
They rushed from the one bank to the other as though there were nobridges in their insensate course. And their ears were strained for theexplosion, for the abomination now to come, preparing slyly in the nightso hypocritically soft under the cold glance of the stars. Suddenly,"Stop, stop!" Rouletabille cried to the coachman.
"Are you mad!" shouted Koupriane.
"We are mad if we arrive like madmen. That would make the catastrophesure. There is still a chance. If we wish not to lose it, then we mustarrive easily and calmly, like friends who know the general is out ofdanger."
"Our only chance is to arrive before the bogus doctors. Either theyaren't there, or it already is all over. Priemkof must have beensurprised at the affair of the poisoning, but he has seized theopportunity; fortunately he couldn't find his accomplices immediately."
"Here is the datcha, anyway. In the name of heaven, tell your driver tostop the horses here. If the 'doctors' are already there it is we whoshall have killed the general."
"You are right."
Koupriane moderated his excitement and that of his driver and horses,and the carriage stopped noiselessly, not far from the datcha. Ermolaicame toward them.
"Priemkof?" faltered Koupriane.
"He has gone again, Excellency."
"How--gone again?"
"Yes, but he has brought the doctors."
Koupriane crushed Rouletabille's wrist. The doctors were there!
"Madame Trebassof is better," continued Ermolai, who understood nothingof their emotion. "The general is going to meet them and take them tohis wife himself."
"Where are they?"
"They are waiting in the drawing-room."
"Oh, Excellency, keep cool, keep cool, and all is not lost," imploredthe reporter.
Rouletabille and Koupriane slipped carefully into the garden. Ermolaifollowed them.
"There?" inquired Koupriane.
"There," Ermolai replied.
From the corner where they were, and looking through the veranda, theycould see the "doctors" as they waited.
They were seated in chairs side by side, in a corner of the drawing-roomfrom where they could see every-thing in the room and a part of thegarden, which they faced, and could hear everything. A window of thefirst-floor was open above their heads, so that they could hear anynoise from there. They could not be surprised from any side, and theyheld every door in view. They were talking softly and tranquilly,looking straight before them. They appeared young. One had a pleasantface, pale but smiling, with rather long, curly hair; the other was moreangular, with haughty bearing and grave face, an eagle nose and glasses.Both wore long black coats buttoned over their calm chests.
Koupriane and the reporter, followed by Ermolai, advanced with thegreatest precaution across the lawn. Screened by the wooden stepsleading to the veranda and by the vine-clad balustrade, they got nearenough to hear them. Koupriane gave eager ear to the words of these twoyoung men, who might have been so rich in the many years of life thatnaturally belonged to them, and who were about to die so horrible adeath in destroying all about them. They spoke of what time it was, ofthe softness of the night and the beauty of the sky; they spoke of theshadows under the birch-trees, of the gulf shining in the late evening'sfading golden light, of the river's freshness and the sweetness ofspringtime in the North. That is what they talked about. Kouprianemurmured, "The assassins!"
Now it was necessary to decide on action, and that necessity washorrible. A false movement, an awkwardness, and the "doctors" would bewarned, and everything lost. They must have the bombs under their coats;there were certainly at least two "living bombs." Their chests, asthey breathed, must heave to and fro and their hearts beat against animpending explosion.
Above on the bedroom floor, they heard the rapid arranging of the room,steps on the floor and a confusion of voices; shadows passed across thewindow-space. Koupriane rapidly interrogated Ermolai and learned thatall the general's friends were there. The two doctors had arrived onlya couple of minutes before the Prefect of Police and the reporter.The little doctor of Vassili-Ostrow had already gone, saying there wasnothing more for him to do when two such celebrated specialists hadarrived. However, in spite of their celebrity, no one had ever heard thenames they gave. Koupriane believed the little doctor was an accomplice.The most necessary thing was to warn those in the room above. There wasimmediate danger that someone would come downstairs to find the doctorsand take them to the general, or that the general would come downhimself 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 notescape them! Koupriane directed Ermolai to go into the veranda and speakin a commonplace way to them at the threshold of the drawing-room door,saying that he would go upstairs and see if he might now escort themto Madame Trebassof's room. Once in the room above, he could warn theothers not to do anything but wait for Koupriane; then Ermolai was tocome down and say to the men, "In just a moment, if you please."
Ermolai crept back as far as the lodge, and then came quite normally upthe path, letting the gravel crunch under his countrified footsteps.He was an intelligent man, and grasped with extraordinary coolness theimportance of the plan of campaign. Easily and naturally he mounted theveranda steps, paused at the threshold of the drawing-room, made theremark he had been told to make, and went upstairs. Koupriane andRouletabille now watched the bedroom windows. The flitting shadows theresuddenly became motionless. All moving about ceased; no more steps wereheard, nothing. And that sudden silence made the two "doctors" raisetheir faces toward the ceiling. Then they exchanged an aroused glance.This change in the manner of things above was dangerous. Kouprianemuttered, "The idiots!" It was such a blow for those upstairs to learnthey walked over a mine ready to explode that it evidently had paralyzedtheir limbs. Happily Ermolai came down almost immediately and said tothe "doctors" in his very best domestic manner:
"Just a second, messieurs, if you please."
He did it still with utter naturalness. And he returned to the ledgebefore he rejoined Koupriane and Rouletabille by way of the lawn.Rouletabille, entirely cool, quite master of himself, as calm now asKoupriane was nervous, said to the Prefect of Police:
"We must act now, and quickly. They are commencing to be suspicious.Have you a plan?"
"Here is all I can see," said Koupriane. "Have the general come down bythe narrow servants' stairway, and slip out of the house from the windowof Natacha's sitting-room, with the aid of a twisted sheet. MatrenaPetrovna will come to speak to them during this time; that will keepthem patient until the general is out of danger. As soon as Matrena haswithdrawn into the garden, I will call my men, who will shoot them froma distance."
"And the house itself? And the general's friends?"
"Let them try to get away, too, by the servants' stairway and jump fromthe window after the general. We must try something. Say that I havethem at the muzzle of my revolver."
"Your plan won't work," said Rouletabille, "unless the door of Natacha'ssitting-room that opens on the drawing-room is closed."
"It is. I can see from here."
"And unless the door of the little passage-way before that staircasethat opens into the drawing-room is closed also, and you cannot see itfrom here."
"That door is open," said Ermolai.
Koupriane swore. But he recovered himself promptly.
"Madame Trebassof will close the door when she speaks to them."
"It's impracticable," said the reporter. "That will arouse theirsuspicions more than ever. Leave it to me; I have a plan."
"What?"
"I have time to execute it, but not to tell you about it. They havealready waited too long. I shall have to go upstairs, though. Ermolaiwill need to go with me, as with a friend of the family."
"I'll go too."
"That would give the whole show away, if they saw you,
the Prefect ofPolice."
"Why, no. If they see me--and they know I ought to be there--as soonas I show myself to them they will conclude I don't know anything aboutit."
"You are wrong."
"It is my duty. I should be near the general to defend him until thelast."
Rouletabille shrugged his shoulders before this dangerous heroism, buthe 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 andthe dying in the datcha des Iles.
Still he remained astonishingly calm. In principle he had admitted thathe was going to die. The only hope of being saved which remained to themrested entirely upon their keeping perfectly cool and upon the patienceof the living bombs. Would they still have three minutes' patience?
Ermolai went ahead of Koupriane and Rouletabille. At the moment theyreached the foot of the veranda steps the servant said loudly, repeatinghis lesson:
"Oh, the general is waiting for you, Excellency. He told me to have youcome to him at once. He is entirely well and Madame Trebassof also."
When they were in the veranda, he added:
"She is to see also, at once, these gentlemen, who will be able to tellher there is no more danger."
And all three passed while Koupriane and Rodetabille vaguely salutedthe two conspirators in the drawing-room. It was a decisive moment.Recognizing Koupriane, the two Nihilists might well believe themselvesdiscovered, as the reporter had said, and precipitate the catastrophe.However, Ermolai, Koupriane and Rouletabille climbed the stairs to thebedroom like automatons, not daring to look behind them, and expectingthe end each instant. But neither stirred. Ermolai went down again, byRouletabille's order, normally, naturally, tranquilly. They went intoMatrena Petrovna's chamber. Everybody was there. It was a gathering ofghosts.
Here was what had happened above. That the "doctors" still remainedbelow, that they had not been received instantly, in brief, that thecatastrophe had been delayed up to now was due to Matrena Petrovna,whose watchful love, like a watch-dog, was always ready to scent danger.These two "doctors" whose names she did not know, who arrived so late,and the precipitate departure of the little doctor of Vassili-Ostrowaroused her watchfulness. Before allowing them to come upstairs to thegeneral she resolved to have a look at them herself downstairs. Shearose from her bed for that; and now her presentiment was justified.When she saw Ermolai, sober and mysterious, enter with Koupriane'smessage, she knew instinctively, before he spoke, that there were bombsin the house. When Ermolai did speak it was a blow for everybody. Atfirst she, Matrena Perovna, had been a frightened, foolish figure inthe big flowered dressing-gown belonging to Feodor that she had wrappedabout her in her haste. When Ermolai left, the general, who knew sheonly trembled for him, tried to reassure her, and, in the midst ofthe frightened silence of all of them, said a few words recallingthe failure of all the previous attempts. But she shook her head andtrembled, shaking with fear for him, in agony at the thought that shecould do nothing there above those living bombs but wait for them toburst. As to the friends, already their limbs were ruined, absolutelyruined, in very truth. For a moment they were quite incapable of moving.The jolly Councilor of Empire, Ivan Petrovitch, had no longer a livelytale to tell, and the abominable prospect of "this horrible mix-up"right at hand rendered him much less gay than in his best hours atCubat's place. And poor Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff was whiter than thesnow that covers old Lithuania's fields when the winter's chase is on.Athanase Georgevitch himself was not brilliant, and his sanguine facehad quite changed, as though he had difficulty in digesting his lastmasterpiece with knife and fork. But, in justice to them, that wasthe first instantaneous effect. No one could learn like that, all ofa sudden, that they were about to die in an indiscriminate slaughterwithout the heart being stopped for a little. Ermolai's words had turnedthese amiable loafers into waxen statues, but, little by little, theirhearts commenced to beat again and each suggested some way of preventingthe disaster--all of them sufficiently incoherent--while MatrenaPetrovna invoked the Virgin and at the same time helped FeodorFeodorovitch adjust his sword and buckle his belt; for the generalwished to die in uniform.
Athanase Georgevitch, his eyes sticking out of his head and his bodybent as though he feared the Nihlists just below him might perceive histall form--through the floor, no doubt--proposed that they should throwthemselves out of the window, even at the cost of broken legs. Thesaddened Councilor of Empire declared that project simply idiotic, foras 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 ofthem with a single gesture through the window. Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff,who couldn't think of anything at all, blamed Koupriane and the rest ofthe police for not having devised something. Why hadn't they already gotrid of these Nihilists? After the frightened silence they had kept atfirst, now they all spoke at once, in low voices, hoarse and rapid, withshortened breath, making wild movements of the arms and head, and walkedhere and there in the chamber quite without motive, but very softly ontiptoe, going to the windows, returning, listening at the doors, peeringthrough the key-holes, exchanging absurd suggestions, full of thewildest imaginings. "If we should... if... if,"--everybody speaking andeverybody making signs for the others to be quiet. "Lower! If they hearus, we are lost." And Koupriane, who did not come, and his police, whothemselves had brought two assassins into the house, and were notable now to make them leave without having everybody jump! They werecertainly lost. There was nothing left but to say their prayers. Theyturned to the general and Matrena Petrovna, who were wrapped in a closeembrace. Feodor had taken the poor disheveled head of the good Matrenabetween his hands and pressed it upon his shoulders as he embraced her.He said, "Rest quietly against my heart, Matrena Petrovna. Nothing canhappen to us except what God wills."
At that sight and that remark the others grew ashamed of theirconfusion. The harmony of that couple embracing in the presence of deathrestored them to themselves, to their courage, and their "Nitchevo."Athanase Georgevitch, Ivan Petrovitch and Thaddeus Tchitchnikoffrepeated 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 greatbanquet when they had eaten and drunk heavily in honor of one another.
* "What does it matter!"
"Listen. Someone is coming up the stairs," whispered Matrena, with herkeen ear, and she slipped from the restraint of her husband.
Breathless, they all hurried to the door opening on the landing, butwith steps as light "as though they walked on eggs." All four of themwere 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 backa little when the footsteps sounded near the door. Behind them Trebassofwas quietly seated in his chair. The door was opened and Koupriane andRouletabille perceived these death-like figures, motionless and mute.No one dared to speak or make a movement until the door had been closed.But then:
"Well? Well? Save us! Where are they? Ah, my dear little domovoi-doukh,save the general, for the love of the Virgin!"
"Tsst! tsst! Silence."
Rouletabille, very pale, but calm, spoke:
"The plan is simple. They are between the two staircases, watching theone and the other. I will go and find them and make them mount the onewhile you descend by the other."
"Caracho! That is simple enough. Why didn't we think of it sooner?Because everybody lost his head except the dear little domovoi-doukh!"
But here something happened Rouletabille had not counted on. The generalrose and said, "You have forgotten one thing, my young friend; that isthat General Trebassof will not descend by the servants' stairway."
His friends looked at him in stupefaction, and asked if he had gone mad.
"What is this you say, Feodor?" imp
lored Matrena.
"I say," insisted the general, "that I have had enough of this comedy,and that since Monsieur Koupriane has not been able to arrest these men,and since, on their side, they don't seem to decide to do their duty, Ishall go myself and put them out of my house."
He started a few steps, but had not his cane and suddenly he tottered.Matrena Petrovna jumped to him and lifted him in her arms as though hewere a feather.
"Not by the servants' stairway, not by the servants' stairway," growledthe obstinate general.
"You will go," Matrena replied to him, "by the way I take you."
And she carried him back into the apartment while she said quickly toRouletabille:
"Go, little domovoi! And God protect us!"
Rouletabille disappeared at once through the door to the main staircase,and the group attended by Koupriane, passed through the dressing-roomand the general's chamber, Matrena Petrovna in the lead with herprecious burden. Ivan Petrovitch had his hand already on the famous boltwhich locked the door to the servants' staircase when they all turned atthe sound of a quick step behind them. Rouletabille had returned.
"They are no longer in the drawing-room."
"Not in the drawing-room! Where are they, then?"
Rouletabille pointed to the door they were about to open.
"Perhaps behind that door. Take care!"
All drew back.
"But Ermolai ought to know where they are," exclaimed Koupriane."Perhaps they have gone, finding out they were discovered."
"They have assassinated Ermolai."
"Assassinated Ermolai!"
"I have seen his body lying in the middle of the drawing-room as Ileaned over the top of the banister. But they were not in the room, andI was afraid you would run into them, for they may well be hidden in theservants' stairway."
"Then open the window, Koupriane, and call your men to deliver us."
"I am quite willing," replied Koupriane coldly, "but it is the signalfor our deaths."
"Well, why do they wait so to make us die?" muttered FeodorFeodorovitch. "I find them very tedious about it, for myself. What areyou doing, Ivan Petrovitch?"
The spectral figure of Ivan Petrovitch, bent beside the door of thestairway, seemed to be hearing things the others could not catch, butwhich frightened them so that they fled from the general's chamber indisorder. Ivan Petrovitch was close on them, his eyes almost stickingfrom his head, his mouth babbling:
"They are there! They are there!"
Athanase Georgevitch open a window wildly and said:
"I am going to jump."
But Thaddeus Tchitchnikofl' stopped him with a word. "For me, I shallnot leave Feodor Feodorovitch."
Athanase and Ivan both felt ashamed, and trembling, but brave, theygathered round the general and said, "We will die together, we will dietogether. We have lived with Feodor Feodorovitch, and we will die withhim."
"What are they waiting for? What are they waiting for?" grumbled thegeneral.
Matrena Petrovna's teeth chattered. "They are waiting for us to godown," said Koupraine.
"Very well, let us do it. This thing must end," said Feodor.
"Yes, yes," they all said, for the situation was becoming intolerable;"enough of this. Go on down. Go on down. God, the Virgin and SaintsPeter and Paul protect us. Let us go."
The whole group, therefore, went to the main staircase, with themovements of drunken men, fantastic waving of the arms, mouthsspeaking all together, saying things no one but themselves understood.Rouletabille had already hurriedly preceded them, was down thestaircase, had time to throw a glance into the drawing-room, steppedover Ermolai's huge corpse, entered Natacha's sitting-room and herchamber, found all these places deserted and bounded back into theveranda at the moment the others commenced to descend the steps aroundFeodor Feodorovitch. The reporter's eyes searched all the dark cornersand had perceived nothing suspicious when, in the veranda, he moved achair. A shadow detached itself from it and glided under the staircase.Rouletabille cried to the group on the stairs.
"They are under the staircase!"
Then Rouletabille confronted a sight that he could never forget all hislife.
At this cry, they all stopped, after an instinctive move to go back.Feodor Feodorovitch, who was still in Matrena Petrovna's arms, cried:
"Vive le Tsar!"
And then, those whom the reporter half expected to see flee, distracted,one way and another, or to throw themselves madly from the height of thesteps, abandoning Feodor and Matrena, gathered themselves instead bya spontaneous movement around the general, like a guard of honor, inbattle, around the flag. Koupriane marched ahead. And they insistedalso upon descending the terrible steps slowly, and sang the Bodje tsaraKrani, the national anthem!
With an overwhelming roar, which shocked earth and sky and the ears ofRouletabille, the entire house seemed lifted in the air; the staircaserose amid flame and smoke, and the group which sang the Bodje tsaraKrani disappeared in a horrible apotheosis.
The Secret of the Night Page 13
