ections from the
corners of the furniture, from the gilded frame of a picture on the wall
and from the phials and glasses on the table. But in all the chamber
Matrena Petrovna saw nothing, thought of nothing but the brass bolt
which shone there on the door. Tired of being on her knees, she shifted,
her chin in her hands, her gaze steadily fixed. As time passed and
nothing happened she heaved a sigh. She could not have said whether she
hoped for or dreaded the coming of that something new which Rouletabille
had indicated. Rouletabille felt her shiver with anguish and impatience.

As for him, he had not hoped that anything would come to pass until
toward dawn, the moment, as everyone knows, when deep sleep is most apt
to vanquish all watchfulness and all insomnia. And as he waited for that
moment he had not budged any more than a Chinese ape or the dear little
porcelain domovoi doukh in the garden. Of course it might be that it was
not to happen this night.

Suddenly Matrena's hand fell on Rouletabille's. His imprisoned hers so
firmly that she understood she was forbidden to make the least movement.
And both, with necks extended, ears erect, watched like beasts, like
beasts on the scent.

Yes, yes, there had been a slight noise in the lock. A key turned,
softly, softly, in the lock, and then--silence; and then another little
noise, a grinding sound, a slight grating of wire, above, then on the
bolt; upon the bolt which shone in the subdued glow of the night-lamp.
The bolt softly, very softly, slipped slowly.

Then the door was pushed slowly, so slowly. It opened.

Through the opening the shadow of an arm stretched, an arm which held
in its fingers something which shone. Rouletabille felt Matrena ready to
bound. He encircled her, he pressed her in his arms, he restrained her
in silence, and he had a horrible fear of hearing her suddenly shout,
while the arm stretched out, almost touched the pillow on the bed where
the general continued to sleep a sleep of peace such as he had not known
for a long time.

VII. ARSENATE OF SODA

The mysterious hand held a phial and poured the entire contents into the
potion. Then the hand withdrew as it had come, slowly, prudently, slyly,
and the key turned in the lock and the bolt slipped back into place.

Like a wolf, Rouletabille, warning Matrena for a last time not to budge,
gained the landing-place, bounded towards the stairs, slid down the
banister right to the veranda,