III. THE WATCH
She went out to caution the servants to a strict watch, armed to theteeth, before the gate all night long, and she crossed the desertedgarden. Under the veranda the schwitzar was spreading a mattress forErmolai. She asked him if he had seen the young Frenchman anywhere, andafter the answer, could only say to herself, "Where is he, then?" Wherehad Rouletabille gone? The general, whom she had carried up to hisroom on her back, without any help, and had helped into bed withoutassistance, was disturbed by this singular disappearance. Had someonealready carried off "their" Rouletabille? Their friends were gone andthe orderlies had taken leave without being able to say where this boyof a journalist had gone. But it would be foolish to worry about thedisappearance of a Journalist, they had said. That kind of man--thesejournalists--came, went, arrived when one least expected them, andquitted their company--even the highest society--without formality. Itwas what they called in France "leaving English fashion." However,it appeared it was not meant to be impolite. Perhaps he had gone totelegraph. A journalist had to keep in touch with the telegraph at allhours. Poor Matrena Petrovna roamed the solitary garden in tumult ofheart. There was the light in the general's window on the first floor.There were lights in the basement from the kitchens. There was a lighton the ground-floor near the sitting-room, from Natacha's chamberwindow. Ah, the night was hard to bear. And this night the shadowsweighed heavier than ever on the valiant breast of Matrena. As shebreathed she felt as though she lifted all the weight of the threateningnight. She examined everything--everything. All was shut tight, wasperfectly secure, and there was no one within excepting people she wasabsolutely sure of--but whom, all the same, she did not allow to goanywhere in the house excepting where their work called them. Each inhis place. That made things surer. She wished each one could remainfixed like the porcelain statues of men out on the lawn. Even as shethought it, here at her feet, right at her very feet, a shadow of oneof the porcelain men moved, stretched itself out, rose to its knees,grasped her skirt and spoke in the voice of Rouletabille. Ah, good! itwas Rouletabille. "Himself, dear madame; himself."
"Why is Ermolai in the veranda? Send him back to the kitchens and tellthe schwitzar to go to bed. The servants are enough for an ordinaryguard outside. Then you go in at once, shut the door, and don't concernyourself about me, dear madame. Good-night."
Rouletabille had resumed, in the shadows, among the other porcelainfigures, his pose of a porcelain man.
Matrena Petrovna did as she was told, returned to the house, spoke tothe schwitzar, who removed to the lodge with Ermolai, and their mistressclosed the outside door. She had closed long before the door of thekitchen stair which allowed the domestics to enter the villa from below.Down there each night the devoted gniagnia and the faithful Ermolaiwatched in turn.
Within the villa, now closed, there were on the ground-floor onlyMatrena herself and her step-daughter Natacha, who slept in the chamberoff the sitting-room, and, above on the first floor, the general asleep,or who ought to be asleep if he had taken his potion. Matrena remainedin the darkness of the drawing-room, her dark-lantern in her hand.All her nights passed thus, gliding from door to door, from chamber tochamber, watching over the watch of the police, not daring to stop herstealthy promenade even to throw herself on the mattress that she hadplaced across the doorway of her husband's chamber. Did she ever sleep?She herself could hardly say. Who else could, then? A tag of sleep hereand there, over the arm of a chair, or leaning against the wall, wakedalways by some noise that she heard or dreamed, some warning, perhaps,that she alone had heard. And to-night, to-night there is Rouletabille'salert guard to help her, and she feels a little less the aching terrorof watchfulness, until there surges back into her mind the recollectionthat the police are no longer there. Was he right, this young man?Certainly she could not deny that some way she feels more confidence nowthat the police are gone. She does not have to spend her time watchingtheir shadows in the shadows, searching the darkness, the arm-chairs,the sofas, to rouse them, to appeal in low tones to all they heldbinding, by their own name and the name of their father, to promise thema bonus that would amount to something if they watched well, to countthem in order to know where they all were, and, suddenly, to throw fullin their face the ray of light from her little dark-lantern in order tobe sure, absolutely sure, that she was face to face with them, one ofthe police, and not with some other, some other with an infernal machineunder his arm. Yes, she surely had less work now that she had no longerto watch the police. And she had less fear!
She thanked the young reporter for that. Where was he? Did he remain inthe pose of a porcelain statue all this time out there on the lawn? Shepeered through the lattice of the veranda shutters and looked anxiouslyout into the darkened garden. Where could he be? Was that he, downyonder, that crouching black heap with an unlighted pipe in his mouth?No, no. That, she knew well, was the dwarf she genuinely loved, herlittle domovoi-doukh, the familiar spirit of the house, who watched withher over the general's life and thanks to whom serious injury had notyet befallen Feodor Feodorovitch--one could not regard a mangled legthat seriously. Ordinarily in her own country (she was from the Oreldistrict) one did not care to see the domovoi-doukh appear in flesh andblood. When she was little she was always afraid that she would comeupon him around a turn of the path in her father's garden. She alwaysthought of him as no higher than that, seated back on his haunches andsmoking his pipe. Then, after she was married, she had suddenly runacross him at a turning in the bazaar at Moscow. He was just as shehad imagined him, and she had immediately bought him, carried himhome herself and placed him, with many precautions, for he was of verydelicate porcelain, in the vestibule of the palace. And in leavingMoscow she had been careful not to leave him there. She had carried himherself in a case and had placed him herself on the lawn of the datchades Iles, that he might continue to watch over her happiness and overthe life of her Feodor. And in order that he should not be bored,eternally smoking his pipe all alone, she had surrounded him with agroup of little porcelain genii, after the fashion of the Jardins desIles. Lord! how that young Frenchman had frightened her, rising suddenlylike that, without warning, on the lawn. She had believed for a momentthat it was the domovoi-doukh himself rising to stretch his legs.Happily he had spoken at once and she had recognized his voice. Andbesides, her domovoi surely would not speak French. Ah! Matrena Petrovnabreathed freely now. It seemed to her, this night, that there were twolittle familiar genii watching over the house. And that was worth morethan all the police in the world, surely. How wily that little fellowwas to order all those men away. There was something it was necessaryto know; it was necessary therefore that nothing should be in the wayof learning it. As things were now, the mystery could operate withoutsuspicion or interference. Only one man watched it, and he had not theair of watching. Certainly Rouletabille had not the air of constantlywatching anything. He had the manner, out in the night, of an easylittle man in porcelain, neither more nor less, yet he couldsee everything--if anything were there to see--and he could heareverything--if there were anything to hear. One passed beside himwithout suspecting him, and men might talk to each other without an ideathat he heard them, and even talk to themselves according to the habitpeople have sometimes when they think themselves quite alone. All theguests had departed thus, passing close by him, almost brushing him,had exchanged their "Adieus," their "Au revoirs," and all their final,drawn-out farewells. That dear little living domovoi certainly was arogue! Oh, that dear little domovoi who had been so affected by thetears of Matrena Petrovna! The good, fat, sentimental, heroic womanlonged to hear, just then, his reassuring voice.
"It is I. Here I am," said the voice of her little living familiarspirit at that instant, and she felt her skirt grasped. She waitedfor what he should say. She felt no fear. Yet she had supposed he wasoutside the house. Still, after all, she was not too astonished that hewas within. He was so adroit! He had entered behind her, in the shadowof her skirts, on all-fours, and had slipped away without any
onenoticing him, while she was speaking to her enormous, majesticschwitzar.
"So you were here?" she said, taking his hand and pressing it nervouslyin hers.
"Yes, yes. I have watched you closing the house. It is a task well-done,certainly. You have not forgotten anything."
"But where were you, dear little demon? I have been into all thecorners, and my hands did not touch you."
"I was under the table set with hors-d'oeuvres in the sitting-room."
"Ah, under the table of zakouskis! I have forbidden them before nowto spread a long hanging cloth there, which obliges me to kick my footunderneath casually in order to be sure there is no one beneath. It isimprudent, very imprudent, such table-cloths. And under the table ofzakouskis have you been able to see or hear anything?"
"Madame, do you think that anyone could possibly see or hear anything inthe villa when you are watching it alone, when the general is asleep andyour step-daughter is preparing for bed?"
"No. No. I do not believe so. I do not. No, oh, Christ!"
They talked thus very low in the dark, both seated in a corner of thesofa, Rouletabille's hand held tightly in the burning hands of MatrenaPetrovna.
She sighed anxiously. "And in the garden--have you heard anything?"
"I heard the officer Boris say to the officer Michael, in French, 'Shallwe return at once to the villa?' The other replied in Russian in a way Icould see was a refusal. Then they had a discussion in Russian which I,naturally, could not understand. But from the way they talked I gatheredthat they disagreed and that no love was lost between them."
"No, they do not love each other. They both love Natacha."
"And she, which one of them does she love? It is necessary to tell me."
"She pretends that she loves Boris, and I believe she does, and yet sheis very friendly with Michael and often she goes into nooks and cornersto chat with him, which makes Boris mad with jealousy. She has forbiddenBoris to speak to her father about their marriage, on the pretext thatshe does not wish to leave her father now, while each day, each minutethe general's life is in danger."
"And you, madame--do you love your step-daughter?" brutally inquired thereporter.
"Yes--sincerely," replied Matrena Petrovna, withdrawing her hand fromthose of Rouletabille.
"And she--does she love you?"
"I believe so, monsieur, I believe so sincerely. Yes, she loves me,and there is not any reason why she should not love me. Ibelieve--understand me thoroughly, because it comes from my heart--thatwe all here in this house love one another. Our friends are old provedfriends. Boris has been orderly to my husband for a very long time.We do not share any of his too-modern ideas, and there were manydiscussions on the duty of soldiers at the time of the massacres. Ireproached him with being as womanish as we were in going down on hisknees to the general behind Natacha and me, when it became necessary tokill all those poor moujiks of Presnia. It was not his role. A soldieris a soldier. My husband raised him roughly and ordered him, for hispains, to march at the head of the troops. It was right. What else couldhe do? The general already had enough to fight against, with the wholerevolution, with his conscience, with the natural pity in his heart ofa brave man, and with the tears and insupportable moanings, at such amoment, of his daughter and his wife. Boris understood and obeyed him,but, after the death of the poor students, he behaved again like a womanin composing those verses on the heroes of the barricades; don't youthink so? Verses that Natacha and he learned by heart, working together,when they were surprised at it by the general. There was a terriblescene. It was before the next-to-the-last attack. The general then hadthe use of both legs. He stamped his feet and fairly shook the house."
"Madame," said Rouletabille, "a propos of the attacks, you must tell meabout the third."
As he said this, leaning toward her, Matrena Petrovna ejaculated a"Listen!" that made him rigid in the night with ear alert. What had sheheard? For him, he had heard nothing.
"You hear nothing?" she whispered to him with an effort. "A tick-tack?"
"No, I hear nothing."
"You know--like the tick-tack of a clock. Listen."
"How can you hear the tick-tack? I've noticed that no clocks are runninghere."
"Don't you understand? It is so that we shall be able to hear thetick-tack better."
"Oh, yes, I understand. But I do not hear anything."
"For myself, I think I hear the tick-tack all the time since the lastattempt. It haunts my ears, it is frightful, to say to one's self: Thereis clockwork somewhere, just about to reach the death-tick--and not toknow where, not to know where! When the police were here I made themall listen, and I was not sure even when they had all listened and saidthere was no tick-tack. It is terrible to hear it in my ear any momentwhen I least expect it. Tick-tack! Tick-tack! It is the blood beatingin my ear, for instance, hard, as if it struck on a sounding-board. Why,here are drops of perspiration on my hands! Listen!"
"Ah, this time someone is talking--is crying," said the young man.
"Sh-h-h!" And Rouletabille felt the rigid hand of Matrena Petrovna onhis arm. "It is the general. The general is dreaming!"
She drew him into the dining-room, into a corner where they could nolonger hear the moanings. But all the doors that communicated with thedining-room, the drawing-room and the sitting-room remained open behindhim, by the secret precaution of Rouletabille.
He waited while Matrena, whose breath he heard come hard, was a littlebehind. In a moment, quite talkative, and as though she wished todistract Rouletabille's attention from the sounds above, the brokenwords and sighs, she continued:
"See, you speak of clocks. My husband has a watch which strikes. Well,I have stopped his watch because more than once I have been startled byhearing the tick-tack of his watch in his waistcoat-pocket. Kouprianegave me that advice one day when he was here and had pricked his earsat the noise of the pendulums, to stop all my watches and clocks so thatthere would be no chance of confusing them with the tick-tack that mightcome from an infernal machine planted in some corner. He spoke fromexperience, my dear little monsieur, and it was by his order that allthe clocks at the Ministry, on the Naberjnaia, were stopped, my dearlittle friend. The Nihilists, he told me, often use clockworks to setoff their machines at the time they decide on. No one can guess all theinventions that they have, those brigands. In the same way, Kouprianeadvised me to take away all the draught-boards from the fireplaces. Bythat precaution they were enabled to avoid a terrible disaster at theMinistry near the Pont-des-chantres, you know, petit demovoi? They saw abomb just as it was being lowered into the fire-place of the minister'scabinet.* The Nihilists held it by a cord and were up on the roofletting it down the chimney. One of them was caught, taken toSchlusselbourg and hanged. Here you can see that all thedraught-boards of the fireplaces are cleared away."
*Actual attack on Witte.
"Madame," interrupted Rouletabille (Matrena Petrovna did not know thatno one ever succeeded in distracting Rouletabille's attention), "madame,someone moans still, upstairs."
"Oh, that is nothing, my little friend. It is the general, who has badnights. He cannot sleep without a narcotic, and that gives him a fever.I am going to tell you now how the third attack came about. And then youwill understand, by the Virgin Mary, how it is I have yet, always have,the tick-tack in my ears.
"One evening when the general had got to sleep and I was in my own room,I heard distinctly the tick-tack of clockwork operating. All the clockshad been stopped, as Koupriane advised, and I had made an excuse to sendFeodor's great watch to the repairer. You can understand how I feltwhen I heard that tick-tack. I was frenzied. I turned my head in alldirections, and decided that the sound came from my husband's chamber. Iran there. He still slept, man that he is! The tick-tack was there. Butwhere? I turned here and there like a fool. The chamber was in darknessand it seemed absolutely impossible for me to light a lamp because Ithought I could not take the time for fear the infernal machine would gooff in those few seconds
. I threw myself on the floor and listenedunder the bed. The noise came from above. But where? I sprang to thefireplace, hoping that, against my orders, someone had started themantel-clock. No, it was not that! It seemed to me now that thetick-tack came from the bed itself, that the machine was in the bed. Thegeneral awaked just then and cried to me, 'What is it, Matrena? What areyou doing?' And he raised himself in bed, while I cried, 'Listen! Hearthe tick-tack. Don't you hear the tick-tack?' I threw myself upon himand gathered him up in my arms to carry him, but I trembled too much,was too weak from fear, and fell back with him onto the bed, crying,'Help!' He thrust me away and said roughly, 'Listen.' The frightfultick-tack was behind us now, on the table. But there was nothing on thetable, only the night-light, the glass with the potion in it, and agold vase where I had placed with my own hands that morning a clusterof grasses and wild flowers that Ermolai had brought that morning on hisreturn from the Orel country. With one bound I was on the table and atthe flowers. I struck my fingers among the grasses and the flowers, andfelt a resistance. The tick-tack was in the bouquet! I took the bouquetin both hands, opened the window and threw it as far as I could into thegarden. At the same moment the bomb burst with a terrible noise, givingme quite a deep wound in the hand. Truly, my dear little domovoi, thatday we had been very near death, but God and the Little Father watchedover us."
And Matrena Petrovna made the sign of the cross.
"All the windows of the house were broken. In all, we escaped with thefright and a visit from the glazier, my little friend, but I certainlybelieved that all was over."
"And Mademoiselle Natacha?" inquired Rouletabille. "She must also havebeen terribly frightened, because the whole house must have rocked."
"Surely. But Natacha was not here that night. It was a Saturday. Shehad been invited to the soiree du 'Michel' by the parents of BorisNikolaievitch, and she slept at their house, after supper at the Ours,as had been planned. The next day, when she learned the danger thegeneral had escaped, she trembled in every limb. She threw herself inher father's arms, weeping, which was natural enough, and declared thatshe never would go away from him again. The general told her how I hadmanaged. Then she pressed me to her heart, saying that she never wouldforget such an action, and that she loved me more than if I were trulyher mother. It was all in vain that during the days following we soughtto understand how the infernal machine had been placed in the bouquetof wild flowers. Only the general's friends that you saw this evening,Natacha and I had entered the general's chamber during the day or inthe evening. No servant, no chamber-maid, had been on that floor. Inthe day-time as well as all night long that entire floor is closed and Ihave the keys. The door of the servants' staircase which opens onto thatfloor, directly into the general's chamber, is always locked and barredon the inside with iron. Natacha and I do the chamber work. There is noway of taking greater precautions. Three police agents watched overus night and day. The night of the bouquet two had spent their timewatching around the house, and the third lay on the sofa in the veranda.Then, too, we found all the doors and windows of the villa shut tight.In such circumstances you can judge whether my anguish was not deeperthan any I had known hitherto. Because to whom, henceforth, could wetrust ourselves? what and whom could we believe? what and whom could wewatch? From that day, no other person but Natacha and me have the rightto go to the first floor. The general's chamber was forbidden to hisfriends. Anyway, the general improved, and soon had the pleasure ofreceiving them himself at his table. I carry the general down and takehim to his room again on my back. I do not wish anyone to help. I amstrong enough for that. I feel that I could carry him to the end of theworld if that would save him. Instead of three police, we had ten; fiveoutside, five inside. The days went well enough, but the nights werefrightful, because the shadows of the police that I encountered alwaysmade me fear that I was face to face with the Nihilists. One night Ialmost strangled one with my hand. It was after that incident that wearranged with Koupriane that the agents who watched at night, inside,should stay placed in the veranda, after having, at the end of theevening, made complete examination of everything. They were not to leavethe veranda unless they heard a suspicious noise or I called to them.And it was after that arrangement that the incident of the floorhappened, that has puzzled so both Koupriane and me."
"Pardon, madame," interrupted Rouletabille, "but the agents, during theexamination of everything, never went to the bedroom floor?"
"No, my child, there is only myself and Natacha, I repeat, who, sincethe bouquet, go there."
"Well, madame, it is necessary to take me there at once."
"At once!"
"Yes, into the general's chamber."
"But he is sleeping, my child. Let me tell you exactly how the affairof the floor happened, and you will know as much of it as I and asKoupriane."
"To the general's chamber at once."
She took both his hands and pressed them nervously. "Little friend!Little friend! One hears there sometimes things which are the secret ofthe night! You understand me?"
"To the general's chamber, at once, madame."
Abruptly she decided to take him there, agitated, upset as she was byideas and sentiments which held her without respite between the wildestinquietude and the most imprudent audacity.