ch has closed to you for a number of days a dwelling where you
have rendered services which I shall not forget all my life."

The letter ended with a vague polite formula. With the letter in his
hand the reporter sat in thought. He seemed to be asking himself, "Is it
fish or flesh?" Was it a letter of thanks or of menace? That was what he
could not decide. Well, he would soon know, for he had decided to
accept that invitation. Anything that brought him and Natacha into
communication at the moment was a thing of capital importance to him.
Half-an-hour later he gave the address of the villa to an isvotchick,
and soon he stepped out before the gate where Ermolai seemed to be
waiting for him.

Rouletabille was so occupied by thought of the conversation he was going
to have with Natacha that he had completely forgotten the excellent
Monsieur Gounsovski and his invitation.

The reporter found Koupriane's agents making a close-linked chain around
the grounds and each watching the other. Matrena had not wished any
agent to be in house. He showed Koupriane's pass and entered.

Ermolai ushered Rouletabille in with shining face. He seemed glad
to have him there again. He bowed low before him and uttered many
compliments, of which the reporter did not understand a word.
Rouletablle passed on, entered the garden and saw Matrena Petrovna there
walking with her step-daughter. They seemed on the best of terms with
each other. The grounds wore an air of tranquillity and the residents
seemed to have totally forgotten the somber tragedy of the other night.
Matrena and Natacha came smilingly up to the young man, who inquired
after the general. They both turned and pointed out Feodor Feodorovitch,
who waved to him from the height of the kiosk, where it seemed the table
had been spread. They were going to dine out of doors this fine night.

"Everything goes very well, very well indeed, dear little domovoi," said
Matrena. "How glad it is to see you and thank you. If you only knew how
I suffered in your absence, I who know how unjust my daughter was to
you. But dear Natacha knows now what she owes you. She doesn't doubt
your word now, nor your clear intelligence, little angel. Michael
Nikolaievitch was a monster and he was punished as he deserved. You know
the police have proof now that he was one of the Central Revolutionary
Committee's most dangerous agents. And he an officer! Whom can we trust
now!"

"And Monsieur Boris Mourazoff, hav