“Here,” he cried to Natacha and Rouletabille.  “Come here and I will explain to you as well what this Constitution amounts to.”

The young people leaned over his demonstration curiously and all eyes in the kiosk were intent on the matches.

“You see that match,” said Feodor Feodorovitch.  “It is the Emperor.  And this other match is the Empress; this one is the Tsarevitch; and that one is the Grand-duke Alexander; and these are the other granddukes.  Now, here are the ministers and there the principal governors, and then the generals; these here are the bishops.”

The whole box of matches was used up, and each match was in its place, as is the way in an empire where proper etiquette prevails in government and the social order.

“Well,” continued the general, “do you want to know, Matrena Petrovna, what a constitution is?  There!  That is the Constitution.”

The general, with a swoop of his hand, mixed all the matches.  Rouletabille laughed, but the good Matrena said: 

“I don’t understand, Feodor.”

“Find the Emperor now.”

Then Matrena understood.  She laughed heartily, she laughed violently, and Natacha laughed also.  Delighted with his success, Feodor Feodorovitch took up one of the little glasses that Natacha had filled with the vodka she brought.

“Listen, my children,” said he.  “We are going to commence the zakouskis.  Koupriane ought to have been here before this.”

Saying this, holding still the little glass in his hand, he felt in his pocket with the other for his watch, and drew out a magnificent large watch whose ticking was easily heard.

“Ah, the watch has come back from the repairer,” Rouletabille remarked smilingly to Matrena Petrovna.  “It looks like a splendid one.”

“It has very fine works,” said the general.  “It was bequeathed to me by my grandfather.  It marks the seconds, and the phases of the moon, and sounds the hours and half-hours.”

Rouletabille bent over the watch, admiring it.

“You expect M. Koupriane for dinner?” inquired the young man, still examining the watch.

“Yes, but since he is so late, we’ll not delay any longer.  Your healths, my children,” said the general as Rouletabille handed him back the watch and he put it in his pocket.

“Your health, Feodor Feodorovitch,” replied Matrena Petrovna, with her usual tenderness.

Rouletabille and Natacha only touched their lips to the vodka, but Feodor Feodorovitch and Matrena drank theirs in the Russian fashion, head back and all at a draught, draining it to the bottom and flinging the contents to the back of the throat.  They had no more than performed this gesture when the general uttered an oath and tried to expel what he had drained so heartily.  Matrena Petrovna spat violently also, looking with horror at her husband.

“What is it?  What has someone put in the vodka?” cried Feodor.