emy comes," he added with a singular loud laugh, "we
can't fail to detect him."

Certainly the kiosk did rise high above the garden and was completely
detached, no wall being near. They had a clear view. No branches of
trees hung over the roof and no tree hid the view. The rustic table of
rough wood was covered with a short cloth and was spread with zakouskis.
It was a meal under the open sky, a seat and a glass in the clear azure.
The evening could not have been softer and clearer. And, as the general
felt so gay, the repast would have promised to be most agreeable, if
Rouletabille had not noticed that Matrena Petrovna and Natacha were
uneasy and downcast. The reporter soon saw, too, that all the general's
joviality was a little excessive. Anyone would have said that Feodor
Feodorovitch spoke to distract himself, to keep himself from thinking.
There was sufficient excuse for him after the outrageous drama of the
other night. Rouletabille noticed further that the general never looked
at his daughter, even when he spoke to her. There was too formidable
a mystery lying between them for restraint not to increase day by day.
Rouletabille involuntarily shook his head, saddened by all he saw. His
movement was surprised by Matrena Petrovna, who pressed his hand in
silence.

"Well, now," said the general, "well, now my children, where is the
vodka?"

Among all the bottles which graced the table the general looked in vain
for his flask of vodka. How in the world could he dine if he did not
prepare for that important act by the rapid absorption of two or
three little glasses of white wine, between two or three sandwiches of
caviare!

"Ermolai must have left it in the wine-chest," said Matrena.

The wine-closet was in the dining-room. She rose to go there, but
Natacha hurried before her down the little flight of steps, crying,
"Stay there, mamma. I will go."

"Don't you bother, either. I know where it is," cried Rouletabille, and
hurried after Natacha.

She did not stop. The two young people arrived in the dining-room at
the same time. They were there alone, as Rouletabille had foreseen. He
stopped Natacha and planted himself in front of her.

"Why, mademoiselle, did you not answer me earlier?"

"Because I don't wish to have any conversation with you."

"If that was so, you would not have come here, where you were sure I
would follow."

She hesitated, with an emotion that would have been incomprehensible to
all othe