"

"I am returning to the Orel country, where I first saw her."

"That is good, very good, Monsieur Boris. At least there you are sure
to see her again. She goes there every year with her parents for a few
weeks. It is a detail you haven't overlooked, doubtless."

"Certainly I haven't. I will tell you that that prospect decided my
place of retreat."

"See!"

"God gives me nothing, but He opens His treasures, and each takes what
he can."

"Yes, yes; and Mademoiselle Natacha, does she know it is to Orel you
have decided to retire?"

"I have no reason for concealing it from her, Monsieur Rouletabille."

"So far so good. You needn't feel so desolate, my dear Monsieur Boris.
All is not lost. I will say even that I see a future for you full of
hope."

"Ah, if you are able to say that truthfully, I am happy indeed to have
met you. I will never forget this rope you have flung me when all the
waters seemed closing over my head. 'What do you advise, then?"

"I advise you to go to Orel, monsieur, and as quickly as possible."

"Very well. You must have reasons for saying that. I obey you, monsieur,
and go."

As Boris started towards the entrance-arch, Rouletabille slipped into
the laboratory. Old Alexis was bent over his retorts. A wretched lamp
barely lighted his obscure work. He turned at the noise the reporter
made.

"Ah!-you, lad!"

"'Well?"

"Oh, nothing so quick. Still, I have already analyzed the two napkins,
you know."

"Yes? The stains? Tell me, for the love of God!"

"Well, my boy, it is arsenate of soda again."

Rouletabille, stricken to the heart, uttered a low cry and everything
seemed to dance around him. Pere Alexis in the midst of all the strange
laboratory instruments seemed Satan himself, and he repulsed the kindly
arms stretched forth to sustain him; in the gloom, where danced here and
there the little blue flames from the crucibles, lively as flickering
tongues, he believed he saw Michael Nikolaievitch's ghost come to cry,
"The arsenate of soda continues, and I am dead." He fell against the
door, which swung open, and he rolled as far as the counter, and struck
his face against it. The shock, that might well have been fatal, brought
him out of his intense nightmare and made him instantly himself again.
He rose, jumped over the heap of boots and fol-de-rols, and leaped to
the court. There Boris grabbed him by his coat. Rouletabille turned,
furious:

"What do you want? You haven't starte