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

Away.  Under The Arch Of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok He Saw Once More

The Man Koupriane Had Placed There With The Order To Bring Him

Alexis's Message.  The Man Looked At Him In Astonishment.

Rouletabille Crossed The Court And Entered The Dingy Old Room Once

More.  Pere Alexis Was Not There,  Naturally,  Engaged As He Was

In His Laboratory.  But A Person Whom He Did Not Recognize At First

Sight Attracted The Reporter's Attention.  In The Half-Light Of The

Shop A Melancholy Shadow Leaned Over The Ikons On The Counter.  It

Was Only When He Straightened Up,  With A Deep Sigh,  And A Little

Light,  Deflected And Yellow From Passing Through Window-Panes That

Had Known No Touch Of Cleaning Since They Were Placed There,  Fell

Faintly On The Face,  That Rouletabille Ascertained He Was Face To

Face With Boris Mourazoff.  It Was Indeed He,  The Erstwhile

Brilliant Officer Whose Elegance And Charm The Reporter Had Admired

As He Saw Him At Beautiful Natacha's Feet In The Datcha At Eliaguine.

Now,  No More In Uniform,  He Had Thrown Over His Bowed Shoulders A

Wretched Coat,  Whose Sleeves Swayed Listlessly At His Sides,  In

Accord With His Mood Of Languid Desperation,  A Felt Hat With The

Rim Turned Down Hid A Little The Misery In His Face In These Few

Days,  These Not-Many Hours,  How He Was Changed!  But,  Even As He

Was,  He Still Concerned Rouletabille.  What Was He Doing There?

Was He Not Going To Go Away,  Perhaps?  He Had Picked Up An Ikon

From The Counter And Carried It Over To The Window To Examine Its

Oxidized Silver,  Giving Such Close Attention To It That The Reporter

Hoped He Might Reach The Door Of The Laboratory Without Being

Noticed.  He Already Had His Hand On The Knob Of That Door,  Which

Was Behind The Counter,  When He Heard His Name Called.

"It Is You,  Monsieur Rouletabille," Said The Low,  Sad Voice Of

Boris.  "What Has Brought You Here,  Then?"

"Well,  Well,  Monsieur Boris Mourazoff,  Unless I'm Mistaken?  I

Certainly Didn't Expect To Find You Here In Pere Alexis's Place."

"Why Not,  Monsieur Rouletabille?  One Can Find Anything Here In

Pere Alexis's Stock.  See; Here Are Two Old Ikons In Wood,  Carved

With Sculptures,  Which Came Direct From Athos,  And Can't Be Equaled,

I Assure You,  Either At Gastini-Dvor Nor Even At Stchoukine-Dvor"

"Yes,  Yes,  That Is Possible," Said Rouletabille,  Impatiently.  "Are

You An Amateur Of Such Things?" He Added,  In Order To Say Something.

"Oh,  Like Anybody Else.  But I Was Going To Tell You,  Monsieur

Rouletabille,  I Have Resigned My Commission.  I Have Resolved To

Retire From The World; I Am Going On A Long Voyage."  (Rouletabille

Thought: 'Why Not Have Gone At Once?')  "And Before Going,  I Have

Come Here To Supply Myself With Some Little Gifts To Send Those Of

My Friends I Particularly Care For,  Although Now,  My Dear Monsieur

Rouletabille,  I Don't Care Much For Anything."

"You Look Desolate Enough,  Monsieur."

Boris Sighed Like A Child.

"How Could It Be Otherwise?" He Said.  "I Loved And Believed Myself

Beloved.  But It Proved To Be - Nothing,  Alas!"

"Sometimes One Only Imagines Things," Said Rouletabille,  Keeping

His Hand On The Door.

"Oh,  Yes," Said The Other,  Growing More And More Melancholy.  "So

A Man Suffers.  He Is His Own Tormentor; He Himself Makes The Wheel

On Which,  Like His Own Executioner,  He Binds Himself."

"It Is Not Necessary,  Monsieur; It Is Not Necessary," Counseled The

Reporter.

"Listen," Implored Boris In A Voice That Showed Tears Were Not Far

Away.  "You Are Still A Child,  But Still You Can See Things.  Do

You Believe Natacha Loves Me?"

"I Am Sure Of It,  Monsieur Boris; I Am Sure Of It."

"I Am Sure Of It,  Too.  But I Don't Know What To Think Now.  She

Has Let Me Go,  Without Trying To Detain Me,  Without A Word Of Hope."

"And Where Are You Going Like That?"

"I Am Returning To The Orel Country,  Where I First Saw Her."

"That Is Good,  Very Good,  Monsieur Boris.  At Least There You Are

Sure To See Her Again.  She Goes There Every Year With Her Parents

For A Few Weeks.  It Is A Detail You Haven't Overlooked,  Doubtless."

"Certainly I Haven't.  I Will Tell You That That Prospect Decided

My Place Of Retreat."

"See!"

"God Gives Me Nothing,  But He Opens His Treasures,  And Each Takes

What He Can."

"Yes,  Yes; And Mademoiselle Natacha,  Does She Know It Is To Orel

You Have Decided To Retire?"

"I Have No Reason For Concealing It From Her,  Monsieur Rouletabille."

"So Far So Good.  You Needn't Feel So Desolate,  My Dear Monsieur

Boris.  All Is Not Lost.  I Will Say Even That I See A Future For

You Full Of Hope."

"Ah,  If You Are Able To Say That Truthfully,  I Am Happy Indeed To

Have Met You.  I Will Never Forget This Rope You Have Flung Me When

All The Waters Seemed Closing Over My Head.  'What Do You Advise,

Then?"

"I Advise You To Go To Orel,  Monsieur,  And As Quickly As Possible."

"Very Well.  You Must Have Reasons For Saying That.  I Obey You,

Monsieur,  And Go."

As Boris Started Towards The Entrance-Arch,  Rouletabille Slipped

Into The Laboratory.  Old Alexis Was Bent Over His Retorts.  A

Wretched Lamp Barely Lighted His Obscure Work.  He Turned At The

Noise The Reporter Made.

"Ah!-You,  Lad!"

"'Well?"

"Oh,  Nothing So Quick.  Still,  I Have Already Analyzed The Two

Napkins,  You Know."

"Yes?  The Stains?  Tell Me,  For The Love Of God!"

"Well,  My Boy,  It Is Arsenate Of Soda Again."

Rouletabille,  Stricken To The Heart,  Uttered A Low Cry And Everything

Seemed To Dance Around Him.  Pere Alexis In The Midst Of All The

Strange Laboratory Instruments Seemed Satan Himself,  And He Repulsed

The Kindly Arms Stretched Forth To Sustain Him; In The Gloom,  Where

Danced Here And There The Little Blue Flames From The Crucibles,

Lively As Flickering Tongues,  He Believed He Saw Michael

Nikolaievitch's Ghost Come To Cry,  "The Arsenate Of Soda Continues,

And I Am Dead."  He Fell Against The Door,  Which Swung Open,  And He

Rolled As Far As The Counter,  And Struck His Face Against It.  The

Shock,  That Might Well Have Been Fatal,  Brought Him Out Of His

Intense Nightmare And Made Him Instantly Himself Again.  He Rose,

Jumped Over The Heap Of Boots And Fol-De-Rols,  And Leaped To The

Court.  There Boris Grabbed Him By His Coat.  Rouletabille Turned,

Furious:

"What Do You Want?  You Haven't Started For The Orel Yet?"

"Monsieur,  I Am Going,  But I Will Be Very Grateful If You Will Take

These Things Yourself To - To Natacha."  He Showed Him,  Still With

Despairing Mien,  The Two Ikons From Mount Athos,  And Rouletabille

Took Them From Him,  Thrust Them In His Pocket,  And Hurried On,

Crying,  "I Understand."

Outside,  Rouletabille Tried To Get Hold Of Himself,  To Recover His

Coolness A Little.  Was It Possible That He Had Made A Mortal Error?

Alas,  Alas,  How Could He Doubt It Now!  The Arsenate Of Soda

Continued.  He Made,  A Superhuman Effort To Ward Off The Horror Of

That,  Even Momentarily - The Death Of Innocent Michael Nikolaievitch

- And To Think Of Nothing Except The Immediate Consequences,  Which

Must Be Carefully Considered If He Wished To Avoid Some New

Catastrophe.  Ah,  The Assassin Was Not Discouraged.  And That Time,

What A Piece Of Work He Had Tried!  What A Hecatomb If He Had

Succeeded!  The General,  Matrena Petrovna,  Natacha And Rouletabille

Himself (Who Almost Regretted,  So Far As He Was Concerned,  That It

Had Not Succeeded) - And Koupriane!  Koupriane,  Who Should Have

Been There For Luncheon.  What A Bag For The Nihilists!  That Was

It,  That Was It.  Rouletabille Understood Now Why They Had Not

Hesitated To Poison Everybody At Once: Koupriane Was Among Them.

Michael Nikolaievitch Would Have Been Avenged!

The Attempt Had Failed This Time,  But What Might They Not Expect

Now!  From The Moment He Believed Michael Nikolaievitch No Longer

Guilty,  As He Had Imagined,  Rouletabille Fell Into A Bottomless

Abyss.

Where Should He Go?  After A Few Moments He Made The Circuit Of The

Rotunda,  Which Serves As The Market For This Quarter And Is The

Finest Ornament Of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok.  He Made The Circuit

Without Knowing It,  Without Stopping For Anything,  Without Seeing

Or Understanding Anything.  As A Broken-Winded Horse Makes Its Way

In The Treadmill,  So He Walked Around With The Thought That He

Also Was Lost In A Treadmill That Led Him Nowhere.  Rouletabille

Was No Longer Rouletabille.

At Random - Because Now He Could Only Act At Random - He Returned

To The Datcha.  Great Disorder Reigned There.  The Guard Had Been

Doubled.  The General's Friends,  Summoned By Trebassof,  Surrounded

The Two Poisoned Sufferers And Filled The House With Their Bustling

Devotion And Their Protestations Of Affection.  However,