Part 17 (1/2)

* The little street of the apothecaries.

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

She mounted to the general's room and came down at least ten times to see if Rouletabille had not returned. Two hours later he was around the villa, as he had promised. She could not keep herself from running to meet him, for which she was scolded.

”Be calm. Be calm. Do you know what was in the phial?”

”No.”

”a.r.s.enate of soda, enough to kill ten people.”

”Holy Mary!”

”Be quiet. Go upstairs to the general.”

Feodor Feodorovitch was in charming humor. It was his first good night since the death of the youth of Moscow. He attributed it to his not having touched the narcotic and resolved, once more, to give up the narcotic, a resolve Rouletabille and Matrena encouraged. During the conversation there was a knock at the door of Matrena's chamber. She ran to see who was there, and returned with Natacha, who wished to embrace her father. Her face showed traces of fatigue. Certainly she had not pa.s.sed as good a night as her father, and the general reproached her for looking so downcast.

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

”No, no, I have not touched a drop of my potion.”

”Yes, I see. Oh, well, that is all right; that is very good. Natural sleep must be coming back...”

Matrena, as though hypnotized by Rouletabille, had taken the gla.s.s from the table and ostentatiously carried it to the dressing-room to throw it out, and she delayed there to recover her self-possession.

Natacha continued:

”You will see, papa, that you will be able to live just like everyone else finally. The great thing was to clear away the police, the atrocious police; wasn't it, Monsieur Rouletabille?”

”I have always said, for myself, that I am entirely of Mademoiselle Natacha's mind. You can be entirely rea.s.sured now, and I shall leave you feeling rea.s.sured. Yes, I must think of getting my interviews done quickly, and departing. Ah well, I can only say what I think. Run things yourselves and you will not run any danger. Besides, the general gets much better, and soon I shall see you all in France, I hope. I must thank you now for your friendly hospitality.”

”Ah, but you are not going? You are not going!” Matrena had already set herself to protest with all the strenuous torrent of words in her poor desolated heart, when a glance from the reporter cut short her despairing utterances.

”I shall have to remain a week still in the city. I have engaged a chamber at the Hotel de France. It is necessary. I have so many people to see and to receive. I will come to make you a little visit from time to time.”

”You are then quite easy,” demanded the general gravely, ”at leaving me all alone?”

”Entirely easy. And, besides, I don't leave you all alone. I leave you with Madame Treba.s.sof and Mademoiselle. I repeat: All three of you stay as I see you now. No more police, or, in any case, the fewest possible.”

”He is right, he is right,” repeated Natacha again.

At this moment there were fresh knocks at the door of Matrena's chamber. It was Ermolai, who announced that his Excellency the Marshal of the Court, Count Keltzof, wished to see the general, acting for His Majesty.

”Go and receive the Count, Natacha, and tell him that your father will be downstairs in a moment.”

Natacha and Rouletabille went down and found the Count in the drawing-room. He was a magnificent specimen, handsome and big as one of the Swiss papal guard. He seemed watchful in all directions and all among the furniture, and was quite evidently disquieted. He advanced immediately to meet the young lady, inquiring the news.

”It is all good news,” replied Natacha. ”Everybody here is splendid. The general is quite gay. But what news have you, monsieur le marechal? You appear preoccupied.”

The marshal had pressed Rouletabille's hand.