The Secret of the Night | Page 7

paunch. He quitted everything at once - all his affairs, his family
- as soon as he learned of the first attack, to come and remain by the
side of his dear comrade Feodor. He had done this after each attack,
without forgetting one. He was a faithful friend. But he fretted because
they might not go bear-hunting as in their youth. 'Where, he would ask,
are there any bears remaining in Courlande, or trees for that matter,
what you could call trees, growing since the days of the grand-dukes of
Lithuania, giant trees that threw their shade right up to the very edge of
the towns? Where were such things nowadays? Thaddeus was very
amusing, for it was he, certainly, who had cut them away tranquilly
enough and watched them vanish in locomotive smoke. It was what
was called Progress. Ah, hunting lost its national character assuredly
with tiny new-growth trees which had not had time to grow. And,
besides, one nowadays had not time for hunting. All the big game was
so far away. Lucky enough if one seized the time to bring down a brace
of woodcock early in the morning. At this point in Thaddeus's
conversation there was a babble of talk among the convivial gentlemen,
for they had all the time in the world at their disposal and could not see
why he should be so concerned about snatching a little while at
morning or evening, or at midday for that matter. Champagne was
flowing like a river when Rouletabille was brought in by Matrena
Petrovna. The general, whose eyes had been on the door for some time,
cried at once, as though responding to a cue:

"Ah, my dear Rouletabille! I have been looking for you. Our friends
wrote me you were coming to St. Petersburg."
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*In this story according to Russian habit General Trebassof is called
alternately by that name or the family name Feodor Feodorovitch, and
Madame Trebassof by that name or her family name, Matrena
Petrovna.- Translator's Note.
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Rouletabille hurried over to him and they shook hands like friends who
meet after a long separation. The reporter was presented to the
company as a close young friend from Paris whom they had enjoyed so
much during their latest visit to the City of Light. Everybody inquired
for the latest word of Paris as of a dear acquaintance.
"How is everybody at Maxim's?" urged the excellent Athanase
Georgevitch.
Thaddeus, too, had been once in Paris and he returned with an
enthusiastic liking for the French demoiselles.
"Vos gogottes, monsieur," he said, appearing very amiable and leaning
on each word, with a guttural emphasis such as is common in the
western provinces, "ah, vos gogottes!"
Matrena Perovna tried to silence him, but Thaddeus insisted on his
right to appreciate the fair sex away from home. He had a turgid,
sentimental wife, always weeping and cramming her religious notions
down his throat.
Of course someone asked Rouletabille what he thought of Russia, but
he had no more than opened his mouth to reply than Athanase
Georgevitch closed it by interrupting:

"Permettez! Permettez! You others, of the young generation, what do
you know of it? You need to have lived a long time and in all its
districts to appreciate Russia at its true value. Russia, my young sir, is
as yet a closed book to you."
"Naturally," Rouletabille answered, smiling.
"Well, well, here's your health! What I would point out to you first of
all is that it is a good buyer of champagne, eh?" - and he gave a huge
grin. "But the hardest drinker I ever knew was born on the banks of the
Seine. Did you know him, Feodor Feodorovitch? Poor Charles Dufour,
who died two years ago at fete of the officers of the Guard. He wagered
at the end of the banquet that he could drink a glassful of champagne to
the health of each man there. There were sixty when you came to count
them. He commenced the round of the table and the affair went
splendidly up to the fifty-eighth man. But at the fifty-ninth - think of the
misfortune! - the champagne ran out! That poor, that charming, that
excellent Charles took up a glass of vin dore which was in the glass of
this fifty-ninth, wished him long life, drained the glass at one draught,
had just time to murmur, 'Tokay, 1807,' and fell back dead! Ah, he
knew the brands, my word! and he proved it to his last breath! Peace to
his ashes! They asked what he died of. I knew he died because of the
inappropriate blend of flavors. There should be discipline in all things
and not promiscuous mixing. One more glass of champagne and he
would have been drinking with