has happened there."

He pointed to the dining-room.

"Very well."

It was pitiful to watch her.

"Go, madame, with courage."

"Why don't you come with me?"

"Because, madame, I have something to do elsewhere. Give me the keys of
the next floor."

"No, no. What for?"

"Not a second's delay, for the love of Heaven. Do what I tell you on
your side, and let me do mine. The keys! Come, the keys!"

He snatched them rather than took them, and pointed a last time to
the dining-room with a gesture so commanding that she did not hesitate
further. She entered the dining-room, shaking, while he bounded to the
upper floor. He was not long. He took only time to open the doors, throw
a glance into the general's chamber, a single glance, and to return,
letting a cry of joy escape him, borrowed from his new and very limited
accomplishment of Russian, "Caracho!"

How Rouletabille, who had not spent half a second examining the
general's chamber, was able to be certain that all went well on that
side, when it took Matrena--and that how many times a day!--at least
a quarter of an hour of ferreting in all the corners each time she
explored her house before she was even inadequately reassured, was
a question. If that dear heroic woman had been with him during this
"instant information" she would have received such a shock that, with
all confidence gone, she would have sent for Koupriane immediately,
and all his agents, reinforced by the personnel of the Okrana (Secret
Police). Rouletabille at once rejoined the general, whistling. Feodor
and Ermolai were deep in conversation about the Orel country. The young
man did not disturb them. Then, soon, Matrena reappeared. He saw her
come in quite radiant. He handed back her keys, and she took them
mechanically. She was overjoyed and did not try to hide it. The general
himself noticed it, and asked what had made her so.

"It is my happiness over our first promenade since we arrived at the
datcha des Iles," she explained. "And now you must go upstairs to bed,
Feodor. You will pass a good night, I am sure."

"I can sleep only if you sleep, Matrena."

"I promise you. It is quite possible now that we have our dear little
domovoi. You know, Feodor, that he smokes his pipe just like the dear
little porcelain domovoi."

"He does resemble him, he certainly does," said Feodor. "That makes us
feel happy, but I wish him to sleep also."

"Yes, yes," smiled Rouletabille, "everybody will sleep