The Secret of the Night

The Secret of the Night, by
Gaston Leroux

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Title: The Secret of the Night
Author: Gaston Leroux

Release Date: March, 1999 [EBook #1686] [This file was last updated
on August 5, 2002]
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Language: English
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The Secret of the Night
by Gaston Leroux

CONTENTS
Chapter
I
GAYETY AND DYNAMITE II NATACHA III THE WATCH IV
"THE YOUTH OF Moscow Is DEAD" V BY ROULETABILLE'S
ORDER THE GENERAL PROMENADES VI THE MYSTERIOUS
HAND VII ARSENATE OF SODA VIII THE LITTLE CHAPEL OF
THE GUARDS IX ANNOUCHEA X A DRAMA IN THE NIGHT XI
THE POISON CONTINUES XII PERE ALEXIS XIII THE LIVING
BOMBS XIV THE MARSHES XV "I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR
YOU" XVI BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL XVII
THE LAST CRAVAT XVIII A SINGULAR EXPERIENCE XIX THE
TSAR

THE SECRET OF THE NIGHT

I
GAYETY AND DYNAMITE
"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."
"Did you explain to him that everybody is searched before being
allowed to enter, that it is the order, and that even my mother herself
has submitted to it?"
"I told him all that, Barinia; and I told him about madame your
mother."
"What did he say to that?"
"That he was not madame your mother. He acted angry."
"Well, let him come in without being searched."
"The Chief of Police won't like it."
"Do as I say."
Ermolai bowed and returned to the garden. The "barinia" left the

veranda, where she had come for this conversation with the old servant
of General Trebassof, her husband, and returned to the dining-room in
the datcha des Iles, where the gay Councilor Ivan Petrovitch was
regaling his amused associates with his latest exploit at Cubat's resort.
They were a noisy company, and certainly the quietest among them
was not the general, who nursed on a sofa the leg which still held him
captive after the recent attack, that to his old coachman and his two
piebald horses had proved fatal. The story of the always-amiable Ivan
Petrovitch (a lively, little, elderly man with his head bald as an egg)
was about the evening before. After having, as he said, "recure la
bouche" for these gentlemen spoke French like their own language and
used it among themselves to keep their servants from understanding -
after having wet his whistle with a large glass of sparkling rosy French
wine, he cried:
"You would have laughed, Feodor Feodorovitch. We had sung songs
on the Barque* and then the Bohemians left with their music and we
went out onto the river-bank to stretch our legs and cool our faces in
the freshness of the dawn, when a company of Cossacks of the Guard
came along. I knew the officer in command and invited him to come
along with us and drink the Emperor's health at Cubat's place. That
officer, Feodor Feodorovitch, is a man who knows vintages and boasts
that he has never swallowed a glass of anything so common as Crimean
wine. When I named champagne he cried, 'Vive l'Empereur!' A true
patriot. So we started, merry as school-children. The entire company
followed, then all the diners playing little whistles, and all the servants
besides, single file. At Cubat's I hated to leave the companion-officers
of my friend at the door, so I invited them in, too. They accepted,
naturally. But the subalterns were thirsty as well. I understand
discipline. You know, Feodor Feodorovitch, that I