The Secret of the Night Page 15

  XV. "I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU"

  At the hotel a note from Gounsovski: "Don't forget this time tocome to-morrow to have luncheon with me. Warmest regards from MadameGounsovski." Then a horrible, sleepless night, shaken with echoes ofexplosions and the clamor of the wounded; and the solemn shade of PereAlexis, stretching out toward Rouletabille a phial of poison and saying,"Either Natacha or you!" Then, rising among the shades the bloody formof Michael Nikolaievitch the Innocent!

  In the morning a note from the Marshal of the Court.

  Monsieur le Marechal had no particular good news, evidently, for interms quite without enthusiasm he invited the young man to luncheon forthat same day, rather early, at midday, as he wished to see him oncemore before he left for France. "I see," said Rouletabille to himself;"Monsieur le Marechal pronounces my expulsion from the country"--and heforgot once more the Gounsovski luncheon. The meeting-place named wasthe great restaurant called the Bear. Rouletabille entered it promptlyat noon. He asked the schwitzar if the Grand Marshal of the Court hadarrived, and was told no one had seen him yet. They conducted him tothe 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 famishedpatron turned and lifted his hands to heaven as he recognized thereporter. The latter would have given all the roubles in his pocket tohave avoided the recognition. But he was already face to face withthe advocate so celebrated for his table-feats, the amiable AthanaseGeorgevitch, his head swathed in bandages and dressings from the midstof which one could perceive distinctly only the eyes and, above all, themouth.

  "How goes it, little friend?"

  "How are you?"

  "Oh, I! There is nothing the matter. In a week we shall have forgottenit."

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

  "No, no. It was nothing. Nitchevo!"

  "And poor Thaddeus Tchitchnikoff with his two poor legs broken!"

  "Eh! Nitchevo! He has plenty of good solid splints that will make himtwo 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 therestaurant belonged to him. He boasted of its architecture and thecuisine "a la Francaise."

  "Do you know," he inquired confidently, "a finer restaurant roomanywhere in the world?"

  In fact, it seemed to Rouletabille as he looked up into the high glassarch that he was in a railway station decorated for some illustrioustraveler, for there were flowers and plants everywhere. But the visitorwhom the ball awaited was the Russian eater, the ogre who never failedto come to eat at The Bear. Pointing out the lines of tables shiningwith their white cloths and bright silver, Athanase Georgevitch, withhis mouth full, said:

  "Ah, my dear little French monsieur, you should see it at supper-time,with the women, and the jewels, and the music. There is nothing inFrance that can give you any idea of it, nothing! The gayety--thechampagne--and the jewels, monsieur, worth millions and millions ofroubles! Our women wear them all--everything they have. They are deckedlike sacred shrines! All the family jewels--from the very bottom of thecaskets! it is magnificent, thoroughly Russian--Muscovite! What amI saying? It is Asiatic. Monsieur, in the evening, at a fete, we areAsiatic. Let me tell you something on the quiet. You notice that thisenormous dining hall is surrounded by those windowed balconies. Each ofthose windows belongs to a separate private room. Well, you see thatwindow there?--yes, there--that is the room of a grand duke--yes, he'sthe one I mean--a very gay grand duke. Do you know, one evening whenthere was a great crowd here--families, monsieur, family parties,high-born families--the window of that particular balcony was thrownopen, and a woman stark naked, as naked as my hand, monsieur, wasdropped into the dining-hall and ran across it full-speed. It was awager, monsieur, a wager of the jolly grand duke's, and the demoisellewon it. But what a scandal! Ah, don't speak of it; that would be verybad form. But--sufficiently Asiatic, eh? Truly Asiatic. And--somethingmuch more unfortunate--you see that table? It happened the Russian NewYear Eve, at supper. All the beauty, the whole capital, was here. Justat midnight the orchestra struck up the Bodje tsara krani* to inauguratethe joyful Russian New Year, and everybody stood up, according tocustom, and listened in silence, as loyal subjects should. Well, atthat table, accompanying his family, there was a young student, a finefellow, very correct, and in uniform. This unhappy young student, whohad risen like everybody else, to listen to the Bodje tsara krani,inadvertently placed his knee on a chair. Truly that is not a correctattitude, monsieur, but really it was no reason for killing him, wasit now? Certainly not. Well, a brute in uniform, an officer quiteimmaculately gotten-up, drew a revolver from his pocket and dischargedit at the student point-blank. You can imagine the scandal, for thestudent was dead! There were Paris journalists there, besides, who hadnever been there before, you see! Monsieur Gaston Leroux was at thatvery table. What a scandal! They had a regular battle. They brokecarafes over the head of the assassin--for he was neither more nor lessthan an assassin, a drinker of blood--an Asiatic. They picked up theassassin, who was bleeding all over, and carried him off to look afterhim. As to the dead man, he lay stretched out there under a table-cloth,waiting for the police--and those at the tables went on with theirdrinking. Isn't that Asiatic enough for you? Here, a naked woman; there,a corpse! And the jewels--and the champagne! What do you say to that?"

  * The Russian national anthem.

  "His Excellency the Grand Marshal of the Court is waiting for you,Monsieur."

  Rouletabille shook hands with Athanase Georgevitch, who returned tohis zakouskis, and followed the interpreter to the door of one ofthe private rooms. The high dignitary was there. With a charm in hispoliteness of which the high-born Russian possesses the secretover almost everybody else in the world, the Marshal intimated toRouletabille that he had incurred imperial displeasure.

  "You have been denounced by Koupriane, who holds you responsible for thechecks he has suffered in this affair."

  "Monsieur Koupriane is right," replied Rouletabille, "and His Majestyshould believe him, since it is the truth. But don't fear anything fromme, Monsieur le Grand Marechal, for I shall not inconvenience MonsieurKoupriane any further, nor anybody else. I shall disappear."

  "I believe Koupriane is already directed to vise your passport."

  "He is very good, and he does himself much harm."

  "All that is a little your fault, Monsieur Rouletabille. We believed wecould consider you as a friend, and you have never failed, it appears,on each occasion to give your help to our enemies.

  "Who says that?"

  "Koupriane. Oh, it is necessary to be one with us. And you are not onewith us. And if you are not for us you are against us. You understandthat, I think. That is the way it has to be. The Terrorists havereturned to the methods of the Nihilists, who succeeded altogethertoo well against Alexander II. When I tell you that they succeeded inplacing their messages even in the imperial palace..."

  "Yes, yes," said Rouletabille, vaguely, as though he were alreadyfar removed from the contingencies of this world. "I know that CzarAlexander II sometimes found under his napkin a letter announcing hiscondemnation to death."

  "Monsieur, at the Chateau yesterday morning something happened that isperhaps more alarming than the letter found by Alexander II under hisnapkin."

  "What can it be? Have bombs been discovered?"

  "No. It is a bizarre occurrence and almost unbelievable. The eiderdowns, all the eider down coverings belonging to the imperialfamily disappeared yesterday morning."*

  * Historically authentic.

  "Surely not!"

  "It is just as I say. And it was impossible to learn what had becomeof them--until yesterday evening, when they were found again in theirproper places in the chambers. That is the new mystery!"

  "Certainly. But how were the
y taken out?"

  "Shall we ever know? All we found was two feathers, this morning, inthe boudoir of the Empress, which leads us to think that the eider downswere taken out that way. I am taking the two feathers to Koupriane."

  "Let me see them," asked the reporter.

  Rouletabille looked them over and handed them back.

  "And what do you think the whole affair means?"

  "We are inclined to regard it as a threat by the revolutionaries. Ifthey can carry away the eider downs, it would be quite as easy for themto carry away..."

  "The Imperial family? No, I don't think it is that."

  "What do you mean, then?"

  "I? Nothing any more. Not only do I not think any more, but I don't wishto. Tell me, Monsieur le Grand Marechal, it is useless, I suppose, totry to see His Majesty before I go?"

  "What good would it do, monsieur? We know everything now. This Natachathat you defended against Koupriane is proved the culprit. The lastaffair does not leave that in any reasonable doubt. And she is takencare of from this time on. His Majesty wishes never to hear Natachaspoken of again under any pretext."

  "And what are you going to do with that young girl?"

  "The Tsar has decided that there shall not be any trial and that thedaughter of General Trebassof shall be sent, by administrative order,to Siberia. The Tsar, monsieur, is very good, for he might have had herhanged. She deserved it."

  "Yes, yes, the Tsar is very good."

  "You are very absorbed, Monsieur Rouletabille, and you are not eating."

  "I have no appetite, Monsieur le Marechal. Tell me,--the Emperor must berather bored at Tsarskoie-Coelo?"

  "Oh, he has plenty of work. He rises at seven o'clock and has a lightEnglish luncheon--tea and toast. At eight o'clock he starts and workstill ten. From ten to eleven he promenades."

  "In the jail-yard?" asked Rouletabille innocently.

  "What's that you say? Ah, you are an enfant terrible! Certainly we dowell to send you away. Until eleven he promenades in a pathway of thepark. From eleven to one he holds audience; luncheon at one; then hespends the time until half-past two with his family."

  "What does he eat?"

  "Soup. His Majesty is wonderfully fond of soup. He takes it at everymeal. After luncheon he smokes, but never a cigar--always cigarettes,gifts of the Sultan; and he only drinks one liqueur, Maraschino. Athalf-past two he goes out again for a little air--always in his park;then he sets himself to work until eight o'clock. It is simply frightfulwork, with heaps of useless papers and numberless signatures. Nosecretary can spare him that ungrateful bureaucratic duty. He must sign,sign, sign, and read, read, read the reports. And it is work without anybeginning or end; as soon as some reports go, others arrive. At eighto'clock, dinner, and then more signatures, working right up to eleveno'clock. At eleven o'clock he goes to bed."

  "And he sleeps to the rhythmical tramp of the guards on patrol," addedRouletabille, bluntly.

  "O young man, young man!"

  "Pardon me, Monsieur le Grand Marechal," said the reporter, rising; "Iam, indeed, a disturbing spirit and I know that I have nothing moreto do in this country. You will not see me any more, Monsieur le GrandMarechal; but before leaving I ought to tell you how much I have beentouched by the hospitality of your great nation. That hospitality issometimes a little dangerous, but it is always magnificent. No othernation in the world knows like the Russians how to receive a man, YourExcellency. I speak as I feel; and that isn't affected by my manner ofquitting 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 engagedto poor Boris Mourazoff, still another young man who has disappeared andwho, before disappearing, charged me to deliver to General Trebassof'sdaughter this last token--these two little ikons. I entrust you withthis mission, Monsieur le Grand Marechal. Your servant, Excellency."

  Rouletabille re-descended the great Kaniouche. "Now," said he tohimself, "it is my turn to buy farewell presents." And he made hisway slowly across la Place des Grandes-Ecuries and the bridge of theKatharine canal. He entered Aptiekarski-Pereoulok and pushed open PereAlexis's door, under the arch, at the back of the obscure court.

  "Health and prosperity, Alexis Hutch!"

  "Ah, you again, little man! Well? Koupriane has let you know the resultof my analyses?"

  "Yes, yes. Tell me, Alexis Hutch, you are sure you are not mistaken? Youdon't think you might be mistaken? Think carefully before you answer. Itis a question of life or death."

  "For whom?"

  "For me."

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

  "Answer me."

  "No, I couldn't be mistaken. The thing is as certain as that we two arehere--arsenate of soda in the stains on the two napkins and traces ofarsenate of soda in two of the four glasses; none in the carafe, nonein the little bottle, none in the two glasses. I say it before you andbefore God."

  "So it is really true. Thank you, Alexis Hutch. Koupriane has not triedto 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 isnot I, it is she. And since it is she, well, I am going to die!"

  "You love her, then?" inquired Pere Alexis.

  "No," replied Rouletabille, with a self-mocking smile. "No, I don't loveher. But if it is she who poured the poison, then it was not MichaelNikolaievitch, and it is I who had Michael Nikolaievitch killed. You cansee now that therefore I must die. Show me your finest images.

  "Ah, my little one, if you will permit your old Alexis to make you agift, I would offer you these two poor ikons that are certainly from theconvent of Troitza at its best period. See how beautiful they are, andold. 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 littlemasterpieces, little friend! If the old masters of Salonika returned tothe world they would be satisfied with their pupils at Troitza. But youmustn't kill yourself at your age!"

  "Come, bat ouclzka (little father), I accept your gift, and, if I meetthe old Salonican masters on the road I am going to travel, I shan'tfail to tell them there is no person here below who appreciates themlike a certain pere of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, Alexis Hutch."

  So saying Rouletabille wrapped up the two little ikons and put themin his pocket. The Saint Luke would be sure to appeal to his friendSainclair. As to the Mother of God, that would be his dying gift to theDame en noir.

  "Ah, you are sad, little son; and your voice, as it sounds now, hurtsme."

  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 thatyou are bringing in? Do you intend to fill that huge basket with mygoods? In that case you are very welcome and I am your humble servant."

  But the two chuckled.

  "Yes, yes, we have come to rid your shop of a wretched piece of goodsthat litters it."

  "What is this you say?" inquired the old man, anxiously, and drawingnear Rouletabille. "Little friend, watch these men; I don't recognizetheir faces and I can't understand why they have come here."

  Rouletabille looked at the new-comers, who drew near the counter, afterdepositing their long basket close to the door. There was a sarcasticand malicious mocking way about them that struck him from the first. Butwhile they kept up their jabbering with Pere Alexis he filled his pipeand proceeded to light it. Just then the door was pushed open again andthree men entered, simply dressed, like respectable small merchants.They also acted curiously and looked all around the shop. Pere Alexisgrew more and more alarmed and the others pulled rudely at his beard.

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

  "Hold on," replied Rouletabille impassively. "They are all armed; theyhave revolvers in their pockets."

&nbs
p; Pere Alexis's teeth commenced to chatter. As he tried to get nearthe door he was roughly pushed back and a final personage entered,apparently a gentleman, and dressed as such, save that he wore a visoredleather cap.

  "Ah," said he at once in French, "why, it is the young French journalistof the Grand-Morskaia Hotel. Salutations and your good health! I seewith pleasure that you also appreciate the counsels of our dear PereAlexis."

  "Don't listen to him, little friend; I don't know him," cried AlexisHutch.

  But the gentleman of the Neva went on:

  "He is a man close to the first principles of science, and therefore notfar from divine; he is a holy man, whom it is good to consult at momentswhen the future appears difficult. He knows how to read as no one elsecan--Father John of Cronstadt excepted, to be strictly accurate--on thesheets of bull-hide where the dark angels have traced mysterious signsof destiny."

  Here the gentleman picked up an old pair of boots, which he threw on thecounter in the midst of the ikons.

  "Pere Alexis, perhaps these are not bull-hide, but good enough cow-hide.Don't you want to read on this cow-hide the future of this young man?"

  But here Rouletabille advanced to the gentleman, and blew an enormouscloud of smoke full in his face.

  "It is useless, monsieur," said Rouletabille, "to waste your time andyour breath. I have been waiting for you."