red ipecac in the general's glass while we were
illustrating with matches a curious-enough theory of the nature of the
constitution of the empire."

"But this is abominable!" cried the Emperor, this time definitely
convinced by the intricate argument of Rouletabille. "And what end could
this imitation serve?'"

"The end of preventing the real crime! The end that she believed herself
to have attained, Sire, to have Natacha removed forever--Natacha whom
she believed capable of any crime."

"Oh, it is monstrous! Feodor Feodorovitch has often told me that Matrena
loved Natacha sincerely."

"She loved her sincerely up to the day that she believed her
guilty. Matrena Petrovna was sure of Natacha's complicity in Michael
Nikolaievitch's attempt to poison the general. I shared her stupor, her
despair, when Feodor Feodorovitch took his daughter in his arms after
that tragic night, and embraced her. He seemed to absolve her. It was
then that Matrena resolved within herself to save the general in spite
of himself, but I remain persuaded that, if she had dared such a plan
against Natacha, it would only be because of what she believed definite
proof of her step-daughter's infamy. These papers, Sire, that you have
shown me, and which show, if nothing more, an understanding between
Natacha and the revolutionaries, could only have been in the possession
of Michael or of Natacha. Nothing was found in Michael's quarters. Tell
me, then, that Matrena found them in Natacha's apartment. Then, she did
not hesitate!"

"If one outlined her crime to her, do you believe she would confess it?
asked the Emperor.

"I am so sure of it that I have had her brought here. By now Koupriane
should be here at the chateau, with Matrena Petrovna."

"You think of everything, monsieur."

The Tsar moved to ring a bell. Rouletabille raised his hand.

"Not yet, Sire. I ask that you permit me not to be present at the
confusion of that brave, heroic, good woman who has loved me much. But
before I go, Sire--do you promise me?"

The Emperor believed he had not heard correctly or did not grasp the
meaning. He repeated what Rouletabille had said. The young reporter
repeated it once more:

"Do you promise? No, Sire, I am not mad. I dare to ask you that. I have
confided my honor to Your Majesty. I have told you Natacha's secret.
Well, now, before Matrena's confession, I dare to ask you: Promise me
to forget that secret. It will not suffice merely to give Nata