of had prayed his companions to let his young friend
satisfy his ravening hunger in peace, they did not concern themselves to
entertain him. Then, too, the music served to distract attention from
him, and at a moment somewhat later, when Matrena Petrovna turned to
speak to the young man, she was frightened at not seeing him. Where had
he gone? She went out into the veranda and looked. She did not dare to
call. She walked into the grand-salon and saw the reporter just as he
came out of the sitting-room.

"Where were you?" she inquired.

"The sitting-room is certainly charming, and decorated exquisitely,"
complimented Rouletabille. "It seems almost a boudoir."

"It does serve as a boudoir for my step-daughter, whose bedroom opens
directly from it; you see the door there. It is simply for the present
that the luncheon table is set there, because for some time the police
have pre-empted the veranda."

"Is your dog a watch-dog, madame?" asked Rouletabille, caressing the
beast, which had followed him.

"Khor is faithful and had guarded us well hitherto."

"He sleeps now, then?"

"Yes. Koupriane has him shut in the lodge to keep him from barking
nights. Koupriane fears that if he is out he will devour one of the
police who watch in the garden at night. I wanted him to sleep in the
house, or by his master's door, or even at the foot of the bed, but
Koupriane said, 'No, no; no dog. Don't rely on the dog. Nothing is more
dangerous than to rely on the dog. 'Since then he has kept Khor locked
up at night. But I do not understand Koupriane's idea."

"Monsieur Koupriane is right," said the reporter. "Dogs are useful only
against strangers."

"Oh," gasped the poor woman, dropping her eyes. "Koupriane certainly
knows his business; he thinks of everything."

"Come," she added rapidly, as though to hide her disquiet, "do not
go out like that without letting me know. They want you in the
dining-room."

"I must have you tell me right now about this attempt."

"In the dining-room, in the dining-room. In spite of myself," she said
in a low voice, "it is stronger than I am. I am not able to leave the
general by himself while he is on the ground-floor."

She drew Rouletabille into the dining-room, where the gentlemen were now
telling odd stories of street robberies amid loud laughter. Natacha was
still talking with Michael Korsakoff; Boris, whose eyes never quitted
them, was as pale as the wax on his guzla, which he rattled vio