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

Know,  For He Had Decided To Accept That Invitation.  Anything That

Brought Him And Natacha Into Communication At The Moment Was A Thing

Of Capital Importance To Him.  Half-An-Hour Later He Gave The

Address Of The Villa To An Isvotchick,  And Soon He Stepped Out

Before The Gate Where Ermolai Seemed To Be Waiting For Him.

Rouletabille Was So Occupied By Thought Of The Conversation He Was

Going To Have With Natacha That He Had Completely Forgotten The

Excellent Monsieur Gounsovski And His Invitation.

The Reporter Found Koupriane's Agents Making A Close-Linked Chain

Around The Grounds And Each Watching The Other.  Matrena Had Not

Wished Any Agent To Be In House.  He Showed Koupriane's Pass And

Entered.

Ermolai Ushered Rouletabille In With Shining Face.  He Seemed Glad

To Have Him There Again.  He Bowed Low Before Him And Uttered Many

Compliments,  Of Which The Reporter Did Not Understand A Word.

Rouletablle Passed On,  Entered The Garden And Saw Matrena Petrovna

There Walking With Her Step-Daughter.  They Seemed On The Best Of

Terms With Each Other.  The Grounds Wore An Air Of Tranquillity And

The Residents Seemed To Have Totally Forgotten The Somber Tragedy

Of The Other Night.  Matrena And Natacha Came Smilingly Up To The

Young Man,  Who Inquired After The General.  They Both Turned And

Pointed Out Feodor Feodorovitch,  Who Waved To Him From The Height

Of The Kiosk,  Where It Seemed The Table Had Been Spread. They Were

Going To Dine Out Of Doors This Fine Night.

"Everything Goes Very Well,  Very Well Indeed,  Dear Little Domovoi,"

Said Matrena.  "How Glad It Is To See You And Thank You.  If You

Only Knew How I Suffered In Your Absence,  I Who Know How Unjust My

Daughter Was To You.  But Dear Natacha Knows Now What She Owes You.

She Doesn't Doubt Your Word Now,  Nor Your Clear Intelligence,  Little

Angel.  Michael Nikolaievitch Was A Monster And He Was Punished As

He Deserved.  You Know The Police Have Proof Now That He Was One Of

The Central Revolutionary Committee's Most Dangerous Agents.  And

He An Officer!   Whom Can We Trust Now!"

"And Monsieur Boris Mourazoff,  Have You Seen Him Since?" Inquired

Rouletabille.

"Boris Called To See Us To-Day,  To Say Good-By,  But We Did Not

Receive Him,  Under The Orders Of The Police.  Natacha Has Written

To Tell Him Of Koupriane's Orders.  We Have Received Letters From

Him; He Is Quitting St. Petersburg.

"What For?"

"Well,  After The Frightful Bloody Scene In His Little House,  When

He Learned How Michael Nikolaievitch Had Found His Death,  And After

He Himself Had Undergone A Severe Grilling From The Police,  And

When He Learned The Police Had Sacked His Library And Gone Through

His Papers,  He Resigned,  And Has Resolved To Live From Now On Out

In The Country,  Without Seeing Anyone,  Like The Philosopher And

Poet He Is.  So Far As I Am Concerned,  I Think He Is Doing Absolutely

Right.  When A Young Man Is A Poet,  It Is Useless To Live Like A

Soldier.  Someone Has Said That,  I Don't Know The Name Now,  And

When One Has Ideas That May Upset Other People,  Surely They Ought

To Live In Solitude."

Rouletabille Looked At Natacha,  Who Was As Pale As Her White Gown,

And Who Added No Word To Her Mother's Outburst.  They Had Drawn Near

The Kiosk.  Rouletabille Saluted The General,  Who Called To Him To

Come Up And,  When The Young Man Extended His Hand,  He Drew Him

Abruptly Nearer And Embraced Him.  To Show Rouletabille How Active

He Was Getting Again,  Feodor Feodorovitch Marched Up And Down The

Kiosk With Only The Aid Of A Stick.  He Went And Came With A Sort

Of Wild,  Furious Gayety.

(He Was Thinking Of Michael) Who Saw Me Every Day Was Here Just For

That.  Very Well.  I Ask You Where He Is Now.  And Yet Here I Am!

An Attack!  I'm Always Here!  But With A Good Eye; And I Begin To

Have A Good Leg.  We Shall See.  Why,  I Recollect How,  When I Was

At Tiflis,  There Was An Insurrection In The Caucasus.  We Fought.

Several Times I Could Feel The Swish Of Bullets Past My Hair.  My

Comrades Fell Around Me Like Flies.  But Nothing Happened To Me,

Not A Thing.  And Here Now!  They Will Not Get Me,  They Will Not

Get Me.  You Know How They Plan Now To Come To Me,  As Living Bombs.

Yes,  They Have Decided On That.  I Can't Press A Friend's Hand Any

More Without The Fear Of Seeing Him Explode.  What Do You Think Of

That?  But They Won't Get Me.  Come,  Drink My Health.  A Small

Glass Of Vodka For An Appetizer.  You See,  Young Man,  We Are Going

To Have Zakouskis Here.  What A Marvelous Panorama!  You Can See

Everything From Here.  If The Enemy Comes," He Added With A Singular

Loud Laugh,  "We Can't Fail To Detect Him."

Certainly The Kiosk Did Rise High Above The Garden And Was

Completely Detached,  No Wall Being Near.  They Had A Clear View.

No Branches Of Trees Hung Over The Roof And No Tree Hid The View.

The Rustic Table Of Rough Wood Was Covered With A Short Cloth And

Was Spread With Zakouskis.  It Was A Meal Under The Open Sky,  A

Seat And A Glass In The Clear Azure.  The Evening Could Not Have

Been Softer And Clearer.  And,  As The General Felt So Gay,  The

Repast Would Have Promised To Be Most Agreeable,  If Rouletabille

Had Not Noticed That Matrena Petrovna And Natacha Were Uneasy And

Downcast.  The Reporter Soon Saw,  Too,  That All The General's

Joviality Was A Little Excessive.  Anyone Would Have Said That

Feodor Feodorovitch Spoke To Distract Himself,  To Keep Himself From

Thinking.  There Was Sufficient Excuse For Him After The Outrageous

Drama Of The Other Night.  Rouletabille Noticed Further That The

General Never Looked At His Daughter,  Even When He Spoke To Her.

There Was Too Formidable A Mystery Lying Between Them For Restraint

Not To Increase Day By Day.  Rouletabille Involuntarily Shook His

Head,  Saddened By All He Saw.  His Movement Was Surprised By

Matrena Petrovna,  Who Pressed His Hand In Silence.

"Well,  Now," Said The General,  "Well,  Now My Children,  Where Is The

Vodka?"

Among All The Bottles Which Graced The Table The General Looked In

Vain For His Flask Of Vodka.  How In The World Could He Dine If He

Did Not Prepare For That Important Act By The Rapid Absorption Of

Two Or Three Little Glasses Of White Wine,  Between Two Or Three

Sandwiches Of Caviare!

"Ermolai Must Have Left It In The Wine-Chest," Said Matrena.

The Wine-Closet Was In The Dining-Room.  She Rose To Go There,  But

Natacha Hurried Before Her Down The Little Flight Of Steps,  Crying,

"Stay There,  Mamma.  I Will Go."

"Don't You Bother,  Either.  I Know Where It Is," Cried Rouletabille,

And Hurried After Natacha.

She Did Not Stop.  The Two Young People Arrived In The Dining-Room At

The Same Time.  They Were There Alone,  As Rouletabille Had Foreseen.

He Stopped Natacha And Planted Himself In Front Of Her.

"Why,  Mademoiselle,  Did You Not Answer Me Earlier?"

"Because I Don't Wish To Have Any Conversation With You."

"If That Was So,  You Would Not Have Come Here,  Where You Were Sure

I Would Follow."

She Hesitated,  With An Emotion That Would Have Been Incomprehensible

To All Others Perhaps,  But Was Not To Rouletabille.

"Well,  Yes,  I Wished To Say This To You: Don't Write To Me Any More.

Don't Speak To Me.  Don't See Me.  Go Away From Here,  Monsieur; Go

Away.  They Will Have Your Life.  And If You Have Found Out Anything,

Forget It.  Ah,  On The Head Of Your Mother,  Forget It,  Or You Are

Lost.  That Is What I Wished To Tell You.  And Now,  You Go."

She Grasped His Hand In A Quick Sympathetic Movement That She Seemed

Instantly To Regret.

"You Go Away," She Repeated.

Rouletabille Still Held His Place Before Her.  She Turned From Him;

She Did Not Wish To Hear Anything Further.

"Mademoiselle," Said He,  "You Are Watched Closer Than Ever.  Who

Will Take Michael Nikolaievitch's Place?"

"Madman,  Be Silent!  Hush!"

"I Am Here."

He Said This With Such Simple Bravery That Tears Sprang To Her Eyes.

"Dear Man!  Poor Man!  Dear Brave Man!"  She Did Not Know What To

Say.  Her Emotion Checked All Utterance.  But It Was Necessary For

Her To Enable Him To Understand That There Was Nothing He Could Do

To Help Her In Her Sad Straits.

"No.  If They Knew What You Have Just Said,  What You Have Proposed

Now,  You Would Be Dead To-Morrow.  Don't Let Them Suspect.  And

Above All,  Don't Try To See Me Anywhere.  Go Back To Papa At Once.

We Have Been Here Too Long.  What If They Learn Of It?  - And They

Learn Everything!  They Are Everywhere,  And Have Ears Everywhere."

"Mademoiselle,  Just One Word More,  A Single Word.  Do You Doubt Now

That Michael Tried To Poison Your Father?"

"Ah,  I Wish To Believe It.  I Wish To.  I Wish To Believe It For

Your Sake,  My Poor Boy."

Rouletabille Desired Something Besides "I Wish To Believe It For

Your Sake,  My Poor Boy."  He Was Far From Being Satisfied.  She Saw

Him Turn Pale.  She Tried To Reassure Him While Her Trembling Hands

Raised The Lid Of The Wine-Chest.

"What Makes Me Think You Are Right Is That I Have Decided Myself

That Only One And The Same Person,  As You Said,  Climbed To The

Window Of The Little Balcony.  Yes,  No One Can Doubt That,  And You

Have Reasoned Well."

But He Persisted Still.

"And Yet,