The Secret Of The Night(Fiscle Part 3) by Gaston Leroux (readera ebook reader txt) 📕

Who Pressed Her Hand Lingeringly To His Lips.  "Here Is Your Book;

I Return It To You.  I Don't Want Any More Of Them,  The Ideas Surge

So In My Brain.  It Makes My Head Ache.  It Is True,  You Are Right,

I Don't Love Novelties.  I Can Satisfy Myself With Pouchkine

Perfectly.  The Rest Are All One To Me.  Did You Pass A Good Night?"

Boris (Good-Looking Young Man,  About Thirty Years Old,  Blonde,  A

Little Effeminate,  Wistful.  A Curious Appurtenance In The Military

Household Of So Vigorous A General).  "Natacha,  There Is Not An

Hour That I Can Call Truly Good If I Spend It Away From You,  Dear,

Dear Natacha."

"I Ask You Seriously If You Have Passed A Good Night?"

She Touched His Hand A Moment And Looked Into His Eyes,  But He

Shook His Head.

"What Did You Do Last Night After You Reached Home?" She Demanded

Insistently.  "Did You Stay Up?"

"I Obeyed You; I Only Sat A Half-Hour By The Window Looking Over

Here At The Villa,  And Then I Went To Bed."

"Yes,  It Is Necessary You Should Get Your Rest.  I Wish It For You

As For Everyone Else.  This Feverish Life Is Impossible.  Matrena

Petrovna Is Getting Us All Ill,  And We Shall Be Prostrated."

"Yesterday," Said Boris,  "I Looked At The Villa For A Half-Hour

From My Window.  Dear,  Dear Villa,  Dear Night When I Can Feel You

Breathing,  Living Near Me.  As If You Had Been Against My Heart.  I

Could Have Wept Because I Could Hear Michael Snoring In His Chamber.

He Seemed Happy.  At Last,  I Heard Nothing More,  There Was Nothing

More To Hear But The Double Chorus Of Frogs In The Pools Of The

Sland.  Our Pools,  Natacha,  Are Like The Enchanted Lakes Of The

Caucasus Which Are Silent By Day And Sing At Evening; There Are

Innumerabel Throngs Of Frogs Which Sing On The Same Chord,  Some Of

Them On A Major And Some On A Minor.  The Chorus Speaks From Pool

To Pool,  Lamenting And Moaning Across The Fields And Gardens,  And

Re-Echoing Like Aeolian Harps Placed Opposite One Another."

"Do Aeolian Harps Make So Much Noise,  Boris?"

"You Laugh?  I Don't Find You Yourself Half The Time.  It Is Michael

Who Has Changed You,  And I Am Out Of It.  (Here They Spoke In

Russian.)  I Shall Not Be Easy Until I Am Your Husband.  I Can't

Understand Your Manner With Michael At All."

(Here More Russian Words Which I Do Not Understand.)

"Speak French; Here Is The Gardener," Said Natacha.

"I Do Not Like The Way You Are Managing Our Lives.  Why Do You

Delay Our Marriage?  Why?"

(Russian Words From Natacha.  Gesture Of Desperation From Boris.)

"How Long?  You Say A Long Time?  But That Says Nothing - A Long

Time.  How Long?  A Year?  Two Years?  Ten Years?  Tell Me,  Or I

Will Kill Myself At Your Feet.  No,  No; Speak Or I Will Kill

Michael.  On My Word!  Like A Dog!"

"I Swear To You,  By The Dear Head Of Your Mother,  Boris,  That The

Date Of Our Marriage Does Not Depend On Michael."

(Some Words In Russian.  Boris,  A Little Consoled,  Holds Her Hand

Lingeringly To His Lips.)

Conversation Between Michael And Natacha In The Garden:

"Well?  Have You Told Him?"

"I Ended At Last By Making Him Understand That There Is Not Any

Hope.  None.  It Is Necessary To Have Patience.  I Have To Have It

Myself."

"He Is Stupid And Provoking."

"Stupid,  No.  Provoking,  Yes,  If You Wish.  But You Also,  You Are

Provoking."

"Natacha!  Natacha!"

(Here More Russian.)  As Natacha Started To Leave,  Michael Placed

His Hand On Her Shoulder,  Stopped Her And Said,  Looking Her Direct

In The Eyes:

"There Will Be A Letter From Annouchka This Evening,  By A Messenger

At Five O'clock."  He Made Each Syllable Explicit.  "Very Important

And Requiring An Immediate Reply."

These Notes Of Rouletabille's Are Not Followed By  Any Commentary.

After Luncheon The Gentlemen Played Poker Until Half-Past Four,

Which Is The "Chic" Hour For The Promenade To The Head Of The

Island.  Rouletabille Had Directed Matrena To Start Exactly At A

Quarter To Five.  He Appeared In The Meantime,  Announcing That He

Had Just Interviewed The Mayor Of St. Petersburg,  Which Made Athanase

Laugh,  Who Could Not Understand That Anyone Would Come Clear From

Paris To Talk With Men Like That.  Natacha Came From Her Chamber To

Join Them For The Promenade.  Her Father Told Her She Looked Too

Worried.

They Left The Villa.  Rouletabille Noted That The Dvornicks Were

Before The Gate And That The Schwitzar Was At His Post,  From Which

He Could Detect Everyone Who Might Enter Or Leave The Villa.

Matrena Pushed The Rolling-Chair Herself.  The General Was Radiant.

He Had Natacha At His Right And At His Left Athanase And Thaddeus.

The Two Orderlies Followed,  Talking With Rouletabille,  Who Had

Monopolized Them.  The Conversation Turned On The Devotion Of

Matrena Petrovna,  Which They Placed Above The Finest Heroic Traits

In The Women Of Antiquity,  And Also On Natacha's Love For Her Father.

Rouletabille Made Them Talk.

Boris Mourazoff Explained That This Exceptional Love Was Accounted

For By The Fact That Natacha's Own Mother,  The General's First Wife,

Died In Giving Birth To Their Daughter,  And Accordingly Feodor

Feodorovitch Had Been Both Father And Mother To His Daughter.  He

Had Raised Her With The Most Touching Care,  Not Permitting Anyone

Else,  When She Was Sick,  To Have The Care Of Passing The Nights By

Her Bedside.

Natacha Was Seven Years Old When Feodor Feodorovitch Was Appointed

Governor Of Orel.  In The Country Near Orel,  During The Summer,  The

General And His Daughter Lived On Neighborly Terms Near The Family

Of Old Petroff,  One Of The Richest Fur Merchants In Russia.  Old

Petroff Had A Daughter,  Matrena,  Who Was Magnificent To See,  Like

A Beautiful Field-Flower.  She Was Always In Excellent Humor,  Never

Spoke Ill Of Anyone In The Neighborhood,  And Not Only Had The Fine

Manners Of A City Dame But A Great,  Simple Heart,  Which She Lavished

On The Little Natacha.

The Child Returned The Affection Of The Beautiful Matrena,  And It

Was On Seeing Them Always Happy To Find Themselves Together That

Trebassof Dreamed Of Reestablishing His Fireside.  The Nuptials

Were Quickly Arranged,  And The Child,  When She Learned That Her

Good Matrena Was To Wed Her Papa,  Danced With Joy.  Then Misfortune

Came Only A Few Weeks Before The Ceremony.  Old Petroff,  Who

Speculated On The Exchange For A Long Time Without Anyone Knowing

Anything About It,  Was Ruined From Top To Bottom.  Matrena Came One

Evening To Apprise Feodor Feodorovitch Of This Sad News And Return

His Pledge To Him.  For All Response Feodor Placed Natacha In

Matrena's Arms.  "Embrace Your Mother," He Said To The Child,  And

To Matrena,   "From To-Day I Consider You My Wife,  Matrena Petrovna.

You Should Obey Me In All Things.  Take That Reply To Your Father

And Tell Him My Purse Is At His Disposition."

The General Was Already,  At That Time,  Even Before He Had Inherited

The Cheremaieff,  Immensely Rich.  He Had Lands Behind Nijni As Vast

As A Province,  And It Would Have Been Difficult To Count The Number

Of Moujiks Who Worked For Him On His Property.  Old Pretroff Gave

His Daughter And Did Not Wish To Accept Anything In Exchange.  Feodor

Wished To Settle A Large Allowance On His Wife; Her Father Opposed

That,  And Matrena Sided With Him In The Matter Against Her Husband,

Because Of Natacha.  "It All Belongs To The Little One," She

Insisted.  "I Accept The Position Of Her Mother,  But On The Condition

That She Shall Never Lose A Kopeck Of Her Inheritance."

"So That," Concluded Boris,  "If The General Died Tomorrow She Would

Be Poorer Than Job."

"Then The General Is Matrena's Sole Resource," Reflected Rouletabille

Aloud.

"I Can Understand Her Hanging Onto Him," Said Michael Korsakoff,

Blowing The Smoke Of His Yellow Cigarette.  "Look At Her.  She

Watches Him Like A Treasure."

"What Do You Mean,  Michael Nikolaievitch?" Said Boris,  Curtly.

"You Believe,  Do You,  That The Devotion Of Matrena Petrovna Is Not

Disinterested.  You Must Know Her Very Poorly To Dare Utter Such

A Thought."

"I Have Never Had That Thought,  Boris Alexandrovitch," Replied The

Other In A Tone Curter Still.  "To Be Able To Imagine That Anyone

Who Lives In The Trebassofs' Home Could Have Such A Thought Needs

An Ass's Head,  Surely."

"We Will Speak Of It Again,  Michael Nikolaievitch."

"At Your Pleasure,  Boris Alexandrovitch."

They Had Exchanged These Latter Words Tranquilly Continuing Their

Walk And Negligently Smoking Their Yellow Tobacco.  Rouletabille Was

Between Them.  He Did Not Regard Them; He Paid No Attention Even To

Their Quarrel; He Had Eyes Only For Natacha,  Who Just Now Quit Her

Place Beside Her Father's Wheel-Chair And Passed By Them With A

Little Nod Of The Head,  Seeming In Haste To Retrace The Way Back To

The Villa.

"Are You Leaving Us?" Boris Demanded Of Her.

"Oh,  I Will Rejoin You Immediately.  I Have Forgotten My Umbrella."

"But I Will Go And Get It For You," Proposed Michael."

"No,  No.  I Have To Go To The Villa; I Will Return Right Away."

She Was Already Past Them.  Rouletabille,  During This,  Looked At

Matrena Petrovna,  Who Looked At Him Also,  Turning Toward The Young

Man A Visage Pale As Wax.  But No One Else Noted The Emotion Of The

Good Matrena,  Who Resumed Pushing The General's Wheel-Chair.

Rouletabille Asked The Officers,  "Was This Arrangement Because The

First Wife Of The General,  Natacha's Mother,  Was Rich?"

"No.  The General,  Who Always Had His Heart