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."
"Arsenate 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 passed 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 glass
from the table and ostentatiously carried it to the dressing-room
to throw it out, and she delayed there to recover her
self-possession.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173