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He slipped into the garden with the same precautions for silence. From the corner that she kept to, through the doors left open, Matrena could follow all the movements of the reporter and watch Natacha's chamber at the same time. The attitude of Rouletabille continued to confuse her beyond all expression. She watched what he did as if she thought him besotted.
Isn't there something that always keeps you from admitting that you are mistaken? You have had an innocent man killed. Now, you know well enough, you know well that I would not have admitted Michael Nikolaievitch here if I had believed he was capable of wishing to poison my father." "Mademoiselle," replied Rouletabille, not lowering his eyes under Natacha's thunderous regard, "I am sure of that."
Natacha continued: "You will see, papa, that you will be able to live just like everyone else finally. The great thing was to clear away the police, the atrocious police; wasn't it, Monsieur Rouletabille?" "I have always said, for myself, that I am entirely of Mademoiselle Natacha's mind. You can be entirely reassured now, and I shall leave you feeling reassured.
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.
Sonia started back, covered her face with one hand, and cried out: "Natacha!" "You saw something? What did you see?" And Natacha rushed forward to hold up the glass. But Sonia had seen nothing; her eyes were getting dim, and she was on the point of giving it up when Natacha's exclamation had stopped her; she did not want to disappoint them; but there is nothing so tiring as sitting motionless.
A journalist had to keep in touch with the telegraph at all hours. Poor Matrena Petrovna roamed the solitary garden in tumult of heart. 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 light on the ground-floor near the sitting-room, from Natacha's chamber window. Ah, the night was hard to bear.
"Have the general come down by the narrow servants' stairway, and slip out of the house from the window of Natacha's sitting-room, with the aid of a twisted sheet. Matrena Petrovna will come to speak to them during this time; that will keep them patient until the general is out of danger. As soon as Matrena has withdrawn into the garden, I will call my men, who will shoot them from a distance."
Natacha's voice floated out upon the peace of the islands under the dim arched sky, light and clear as a night rose, and the guzla of Boris accompanied it. Natacha sang: "This is the night of the Isles at the north of the world. The sky presses in its stainless arms the bosom of earth, Night kisses the rose that dawn gave to the twilight.
"BARINIA, the young stranger has arrived." "Where is he?" "Oh, he is waiting at the lodge." "I told you to show him to Natacha's sitting-room. Didn't you understand me, Ermolai?" "Pardon, Barinia, but the young stranger, when I asked to search him, as you directed, flatly refused to let me."
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