“Yes, we must tell you now,” Gounsovski slipped in softly, “that it will be much better not to let Koupriane know that you got the information from me.  Because then, you understand, he would not believe you; or, rather, he would not believe me.  That is why we take these precautions of dining and smoking a cigar.  We speak of one thing and another and you do as you please with what we say.  But, to make them useful, it is absolutely necessary, I repeat, to be silent about their source.” (As he said that, Gounsovski gave Rouletabille a piercing glance through his goggles, the first time Rouletabille had seen such a look in his eyes.  He never would have suspected him capable of such fire.) “Priemkof,” continued Gounsovski in a low voice, using his handkerchief vigorously, “was employed here in my home and we separated on bad terms, through his fault, it is necessary to say.  Then he got into Koupriane’s confidence by saying the worst he could of us, my dear little monsieur.”

“But what could he say? — servants’ stories! my dear little monsieur,” repeated the fat dame, and rolled her great magnificent black eyes furiously.  “Stories that have been treated as they deserved at Court, certainly.  Madame Daquin, the wife of His Majesty’s head-cook, whom you certainly know, and the nephew of the second Maid of Honor to the Empress, who stands very well with his aunt, have told us so; servants’ stories that might have ruined us but have not produced any effect on His Majesty, for whom we would give our lives, Christ knows.  Well, you understand now that if you were to say to Koupriane, ’Gaspadine Gounsovski has spoken ill to me of Priemkof,’ he would not care to hear a word further.  Still, Priemkof is in the scheme for the living bombs, that is all I can tell you; at least, he was before the affair of the poisoning.  That poisoning is certainly very astonishing, between us.  It does not appear to have come from without, whereas the living bombs will have to come from without.  And Priemkof is mixed up in it.”

“Yes, yes,” approved Madame Gounsovski again, “he is committed to it.  There have been stories about him, too.  Other people as well as he can tell tales; it isn’t hard to do.  He has got to make some showing now if he is to keep in with Annouchka’s clique.”

“Koupriane, our dear Koupriane,” interrupted Gounsovski, slightly troubled at hearing his wife pronounce Annouchka’s name, “Koupriane ought to be able to understand that this time Priemkof must bring things off, or he is definitely ruined.”

“Priemkof knows it well enough,” replied Madame as she re-filled the glasses, “but Koupriane doesn’t know it; that is all we can tell you.  Is it enough?  All the rest is mere gossip.”