ach 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 us this evening. Your health, Matrena Petrovna.
Champagne, Feodor Feodorovitch! Vive la France, monsieur! Natacha, my
child, you must sing something. Boris will accompany you on the guzla.
Your father will enjoy it."

All eyes turned toward Natacha as she rose.

Rouletabille was struck by her serene beauty. That was the first
enthralling impression, an impression so strong it astonished him, the
perfect serenity, the supreme calm, the tranquil harmony of her