The Secret of the Night
concerned. Something I have not confided to anyone, not even to my
note-book, because a note-book, you know, a note-book can always be
lost. I just mention that in case you had any idea of having me searched
before my departure.”
“Oh, Monsieur Rouletabille!”
“Eh, eh, like the way the police do in your country; in mine too, for
that matter. Yes, that’s often enough seen. The police, furious because
they can’t hit a clue in some case that interests them, arrest a
reporter who knows more than they do, in order to make him talk.
But--nothing of that sort with me, monsieur. You might have me taken to
your famous ‘Terrible Section,’ I’d not open my mouth, not even in the
famous rocking-chair, not even under the blows of clenched fists.”
“Monsieur Rouletabille, what do you take us for? You are the guest of
the Tsar.”
“Ah, I have the word of an honest man. Very well, I will treat you as an
honest man. I will tell you what I have discovered. I don’t wish through
any false pride to keep you in darkness about something which may
perhaps--I say perhaps--permit you to save the general.”
“Tell me. I am listening.”
“But it is perfectly understood that once I have told you this you will
give me my passport and allow me to depart?”
“You feel that you couldn’t possibly,” inquired Koupriane, more and more
troubled, and after a moment of hesitation, “you couldn’t possibly tell
me that and yet remain?”
“No, monsieur. From the moment you place me under the necessity of
explaining each of my movements and each of my acts, I prefer to go and
leave to you that ‘responsibility’ of which you spoke just now, my dear
Monsieur Koupriane.”
Astonished and disquieted by this long conversation between Rouletabille
and the Head of Police, Matrena Petrovna continually turned upon them
her anguished glance, which always insensibly softened as it rested on
Rouletabille. Koupriane read there all the hope that the brave woman had
in the young reporter, and he read also in Rouletabille’s eye all the
extraordinary confidence that the mere boy had in himself. As a last
consideration had he not already something in hand in circumstances
where all the police of the world had admitted themselves vanquished?
Koupriane pressed Rouletabille’s hand and said just one word to him:
“Remain.”
Having saluted the general and Matrena affectionately, and a group of
friends in one courteous sweep, he departed, with thoughtful brow.
During all this time the general, enchanted with the promenade, told
stories of the Caucasus to his friends, believing himself young again
and re-living his nights as sub-lieutenant at Tills. As to Natacha,
no one had seen her. They retraced the way to the villa along deserted
by-paths. Koupriane’s call made occasion for Athanase Georgevitch and
Thaddeus, and the two officers also, to say that he was the only honest
man in all the Russian police, and that Matrena Petrovna was a great
woman to have dared rid herself of the entire clique of agents, who
are often more revolutionary than the Nihilists themselves. Thus they
arrived at the datcha.
The general inquired for Natacha, not understanding why she had left him
thus during his first venture out. The schwitzar replied that the young
mistress had returned to the house and had left again about a quarter
of an hour later, taking the way that the party had gone on their
promenade, and he had not seen her since.
Boris spoke up:
“She must have passed on the other side of the carriages while we were
behind the trees, general, and not seeing us she has gone on her way,
making the round of the island, over as far as the Barque.”
The explanation seemed the most plausible one.
“Has anyone else been here?” demanded Matrena, forcing her voice to
be calm. Rouletabille saw her hand tremble on the handle of the
rolling-chair, which she had not quitted for a second during all the
promenade, refusing aid from the officers, the friends, and even from
Rouletabille.
“First there came the Head of Police, who told me he would go and find
you, Barinia, and right after, His Excellency the Marshal of the Court.
His Excellency will return, although he is very pressed for time, before
he takes the train at seven o’clock for Krasnoie-Coelo.”
All this had been said in Russian, naturally, but Matrena translated the
words of the schwitzar into French in a low voice for Rouletabille, who
was near her. The general during this time had taken Rouletabille’s hand
and pressed it affectionately, as if, in that mute way, to thank him for
all the young man had done for them. Feodor himself also had confidence,
and he was grateful for the freer air that he was being allowed
to breathe. It seemed to him that he was emerging from prison.
Nevertheless, as the promenade had been a little fatiguing, Matrena
ordered him to go and rest immediately. Athanase and Thaddeus took their
leave. The two officers were already at the end of the garden, talking
coldly, and almost confronting one another, like wooden soldiers.
Without doubt they were arranging the conditions of an encounter to
settle their little difference at once.
The schwitzar gathered the general into his great arms and carried him
into the veranda. Feodor demanded five minutes’ respite before he was
taken upstairs to his chamber. Matrena Petrovna had a light luncheon
brought at his request. In truth, the good woman trembled with
impatience and hardly dared move without consulting Rouletabille’s
face. While the general talked with Ermolai, who passed him his tea,
Rouletabille made a sign to Matrena that she understood at once. She
joined the young man in the drawing-room.
“Madame,” he said rapidly, in a low voice, “you must go at once to see
what has happened there.”
He pointed to the dining-room.
“Very well.”
It was pitiful to watch her.
“Go, madame, with courage.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“Because, madame, I have something to do elsewhere. Give me the keys of
the next floor.”
“No, no. What for?”
“Not a second’s delay, for the love of Heaven. Do what I tell you on
your side, and let me do mine. The keys! Come, the keys!”
He snatched them rather than took them, and pointed a last time to
the dining-room with a gesture so commanding that she did not hesitate
further. She entered the dining-room, shaking, while he bounded to the
upper floor. He was not long. He took only time to open the doors, throw
a glance into the general’s chamber, a single glance, and to return,
letting a cry of joy escape him, borrowed from his new and very limited
accomplishment of Russian, “Caracho!”
How Rouletabille, who had not spent half a second examining the
general’s chamber, was able to be certain that all went well on that
side, when it took Matrena--and that how many times a day!--at least
a quarter of an hour of ferreting in all the corners each time she
explored her house before she was even inadequately reassured, was
a question. If that dear heroic woman had been with him during this
“instant information” she would have received such a shock that, with
all confidence gone, she would have sent for Koupriane immediately,
and all his agents, reinforced by the personnel of the Okrana (Secret
Police). Rouletabille at once rejoined the general, whistling. Feodor
and Ermolai were deep in conversation about the Orel country. The young
man did not disturb them. Then, soon, Matrena reappeared. He saw her
come in quite radiant. He handed back her keys, and she took them
mechanically. She was overjoyed and did not try to hide it. The general
himself noticed it, and asked what had made her so.
“It is my happiness over our first promenade since we arrived at the
datcha des Iles,” she explained. “And now you must go upstairs to bed,
Feodor. You will pass a good night, I am sure.”
“I can sleep only if you sleep, Matrena.”
“I promise you. It is quite possible now that we have our dear little
domovoi. You know, Feodor, that he smokes his pipe just like the dear
little porcelain domovoi.”
“He does resemble him, he certainly does,” said Feodor. “That makes us
feel happy, but I wish him to sleep also.”
“Yes, yes,” smiled Rouletabille, “everybody will sleep here. That is the
countersign. We have watched enough. Since the police are gone we can
all sleep, believe me, general.”
“Eh, eh, I believe you, on my word, easily enough. There were only they
in the house capable of attempting that affair of the bouquet. I
have thought that all out, and now I am at ease. And anyway, whatever
happens, it is necessary to get sleep, isn’t it? The chances of war!
Nichevo!” He pressed Rouletabille’s hand, and Matrena Petrovna took,
as was her habit, Feodor Feodorovitch on her back and lugged him to his
chamber. In that also she refused aid from anyone. The general clung to
his wife’s neck during the ascent and laughed like a child. Rouletabille
remained in the hallway, watching the garden attentively. Ermolai walked
out of the villa and crossed the garden, going to meet a personage in
uniform whom the young man recognized immediately as the grand-marshal
of the court, who had introduced him to the Tsar. Ermolai informed him
that Madame Matrena was engaged in helping her husband retire, and the
marshal remained at the end of the garden where he had found Michael and
Boris talking in the kiosque. All three remained there for some time
in conversation, standing by a table where General and Madame Trebassof
sometimes dined when they had no guests. As they talked the marshal
played with a box of white cardboard tied with a pink string. At this
moment Matrena, who had not been able to resist the desire to talk for
a moment with Rouletabille and tell him how happy she was, rejoined the
young man.
“Little domovoi,” said she, laying her hand on his shoulder, “you have
not watched on this side?”
She pointed in her turn to the dining-room.
“No, no. You have seen it, madame, and I am sufficiently informed.”
“Perfectly. There is nothing. No one has worked there! No one has
touched the board. I knew it. I am sure of it. It is dreadful what we
have thought about it! Oh, you do not know how relieved and happy I
am. Ah, Natacha, Natacha, I have not loved you in vain. (She pronounced
these words in accents of great beauty and tragic sincerity.) When I saw
her leave us, my dear, ah, my legs sank under me. When she said, ‘I have
forgotten something; I must hurry back,’ I felt I had not the strength
to go a single step. But now I certainly am happy, that weight at least
is off my heart, off my heart, dear little domovoi, because of you,
because of you.”
She embraced him, and then ran away, like one possessed, to resume her
post near the general.
Notes in Rouletabille’s memorandum-book: The affair of the little cavity
under the floor not having been touched again proves nothing for or
against Natacha (even though that excellent Matrena Petrovna thinks
so). Natacha could very well have been warned by the too great care with
which Madame Matrena watched the floor. My opinion, since I saw Matrena
lift the carpet the first time without any real precaution, is that they
have definitely abandoned the preparation of that attack and are trying
to account for the secret becoming known. What Matrena feels so sure
of is that the trap I laid by the promenade to the Point was against
Natacha particularly. I knew beforehand that Natacha would absent
herself during the promenade. I’m not looking for anything new from
Natacha, but what I did need was to be sure that Matrena didn’t detest
Natacha, and that she had not faked the preparations for an attack under
the floor in such a way as to throw almost certain suspicion on her
step-daughter. I am sure about that now. Matrena is innocent of such a