The Secret of the Night [0]
The Secret of the Night
by Gaston Leroux
CONTENTS
Chapter
I GAYETY AND DYNAMITE
II NATACHA
III THE WATCH
IV "THE YOUTH OF Moscow Is DEAD"
V BY ROULETABILLE'S ORDER THE GENERAL PROMENADES
VI THE MYSTERIOUS HAND
VII ARSENATE OF SODA
VIII THE LITTLE CHAPEL OF THE GUARDS
IX ANNOUCHEA
X A DRAMA IN THE NIGHT
XI THE POISON CONTINUES
XII PERE ALEXIS
XIII THE LIVING BOMBS
XIV THE MARSHES
XV "I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU"
XVI BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL
XVII THE LAST CRAVAT
XVIII A SINGULAR EXPERIENCE
XIX THE TSAR
THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT
I
GAYETY AND DYNAMITE
"BARINIA, the young stranger has arrived."
"Where is he?"
"Oh, he is waiting at the lodge."
"I told you to show him to Natacha's sitting-room. Didn't you understand me, Ermolai?"
"Pardon, Barinia, but the young stranger, when I asked to search him, as you directed, flatly refused to let me."
"Did you explain to him that everybody is searched before being allowed to enter, that it is the order, and that even my mother herself has submitted to it?"
"I told him all that, Barinia; and I told him about madame your mother."
"What did he say to that?"
"That he was not madame your mother. He acted angry."
"Well, let him come in without being searched."
"The Chief of Police won't like it."
"Do as I say."
Ermolai bowed and returned to the garden. The "barinia" left the veranda, where she had come for this conversation with the old servant of General Trebassof, her husband, and returned to the dining-room in the datcha des Iles, where the gay Councilor Ivan Petrovitch was regaling his amused associates with his latest exploit at Cubat's resort. They were a noisy company, and certainly the quietest among them was not the general, who nursed on a sofa the leg which still held him captive after the recent attack, that to his old coachman and his two piebald horses had proved fatal. The story of the always-amiable Ivan Petrovitch (a lively, little, elderly man with his head bald as an egg) was about the evening before. After having, as he said, "recure la bouche " for these gentlemen spoke French like their own language and used it among themselves to keep their servants from understanding - after having wet his whistle with a large glass of sparkling rosy French wine, he cried:
"You would have laughed, Feodor Feodorovitch. We had sung songs on the Barque* and then the Bohemians left with their music and we
[*The "Barque" is a restaurant on a boat, among the isles, near the Gulf of Finland, on a bank of the Neva.]
went out onto the river-bank to stretch our legs and cool our faces in the freshness of the dawn, when a company of Cossacks of the Guard came along. I knew the officer in command and invited him to come along with us and drink the Emperor's health at Cubat's place. That officer, Feodor Feodorovitch, is a man who knows vintages and boasts that he has never swallowed a glass of anything so common as Crimean wine. When I named champagne he cried, 'Vive l'Empereur!' A true patriot. So we started, merry as school-children. The entire company followed, then all the diners playing little whistles, and all the servants besides, single file. At Cubat's I hated to leave the companion-officers of my friend at the door, so I invited them in, too. They accepted, naturally. But the subalterns were thirsty as well. I understand discipline. You know, Feodor Feodorovitch, that I am a stickler for discipline. Just because one is gay of a spring morning, discipline should not be forgotten. I invited the officers to drink in a private room, and sent the subalterns into the main hall of the restaurant. Then the soldiers were thirsty, too, and I had drinks served to them out in the courtyard. Then, my word, there was a perplexing business, for now the horses whinnied. The brave horses, Feodor Feodorovitch, who also wished to drink the health of the Emperor. I was bothered about the