“Ah, but you are not going?  You are not going!” Matrena had already set herself to protest with all the strenuous torrent of words in her poor desolated heart, when a glance from the reporter cut short her despairing utterances.

“I shall have to remain a week still in the city.  I have engaged a chamber at the Hotel de France.  It is necessary.  I have so many people to see and to receive.  I will come to make you a little visit from time to time.”

“You are then quite easy,” demanded the general gravely, “at leaving me all alone?”

“Entirely easy.  And, besides, I don’t leave you all alone.  I leave you with Madame Trebassof and Mademoiselle.  I repeat:  All three of you stay as I see you now.  No more police, or, in any case, the fewest possible.”

“He is right, he is right,” repeated Natacha again.

At this moment there were fresh knocks at the door of Matrena’s chamber.  It was Ermolai, who announced that his Excellency the Marshal of the Court, Count Keltzof, wished to see the general, acting for His Majesty.

“Go and receive the Count, Natacha, and tell him that your father will be downstairs in a moment.”

Natacha and Rouletabille went down and found the Count in the drawing-room.  He was a magnificent specimen, handsome and big as one of the Swiss papal guard.  He seemed watchful in all directions and all among the furniture, and was quite evidently disquieted.  He advanced immediately to meet the young lady, inquiring the news.

“It is all good news,” replied Natacha.  “Everybody here is splendid.  The general is quite gay.  But what news have you, monsieur le marechal?  You appear preoccupied.”

The marshal had pressed Rouletabille’s hand.

“And my grapes?” he demanded of Natacha.

“How, your grapes?  What grapes?”

“If you have not touched them, so much the better.  I arrived here very anxious.  I brought you yesterday, from Krasnoie-Coelo, some of the Emperor’s grapes that Feodor Feodorovitch enjoyed so much.  Now this morning I learned that the eldest son of Doucet, the French head-gardener of the Imperial conservatories at Krasnoie, had died from eating those grapes, which he had taken from those gathered for me to bring here.  Imagine my dismay.  I knew, however, that at the general’s table, grapes would not be eaten without having been washed, but I reproached myself for not having taken the precaution of leaving word that Doucet recommend that they be washed thoroughly.  Still, I don’t suppose it would matter.  I couldn’t see how my gift could be dangerous, but when I learned of little Doucet’s death this morning, I jumped into the first train and came straight here.”

“But, your Excellency,” interrupted Natacha, “we have not seen your grapes.”

“Ah, they have not been served yet?  All the better.  Thank goodness!”

“The Emperor’s grapes are diseased, then?” interrogated Rouletabille.  “Phylloxera pest has got into the conservatories?”