“Return as soon as possible. We are waiting for you very anxiously. A magnificent assignment at St. Petersburg.”
This dispatch was signed by the Editor in chief of the Epoch.
“Well, what do you say to that, M. Rouletabille?” demanded the Prince. “Will you admit now that I was pretty well informed?”
The Lady in Black could not repress a sigh.
“I shall not go to St. Petersburg!” declared Rouletabille.
“They will regret your decision at the Court,” said the Prince. “I am certain of that, and, allow me to say, young man, that you are missing a wonderful opportunity.”
The term “young man” seemed extremely displeasing to Rouletabille, who opened his lips as though to answer the Prince, but closed them again, to my great surprise, without uttering a word. Galitch went on:
“You would have found an adventure worthy of your skill. One may hope for everything when one has been strong enough to unmask a Larsan!”
The word fell into the midst of us like a bombshell and, as if by a common impulse, we took refuge behind our smoked glasses. The silence which followed was horrible. We sat as motionless as statues. Larsan! Why should this name which we ourselves had so often pronounced within the last forty-eight hours and which represented a danger with which we were commencing to almost feel familiar—why, I say, should that name, spoken at that precise moment, have produced an effect upon us, which, speaking for myself, was like nothing ever felt before? It seemed to me as though I had been struck by a thunderbolt. An indefinable terror glided through my body. I longed to flee but it seemed to me that if I were to stand up my limbs would not be able to support me. The unbroken silence on every hand contributed to increase this indescribable state of hypnosis. Why did no one speak? Where had old Bob’s gayety vanished? He had scarcely uttered a word during the meal. And why did all the others sit so silent and so motionless behind their dark glasses? All at once, I turned my head and looked behind me. Then I understood, more by instinct than anything else, that I was the object of a common psychical attraction. Someone was looking at me. Two eyes were fixed upon me—weighing upon me. I could not see the eyes and I did not know from where the glance fixed upon me came, but it was there. I knew it—and it was his glance. But there was no one behind me, nor at the right, nor the left, nor in front, except the people who were seated at the table, motionless, behind their dark glasses. And then—then I knew that Larsan’s eyes were glaring at me from behind a pair of those glasses—ah! the dark glasses—the dark glasses behind which were hidden Larsan’s eyes.
And then, all at once, the sensation passed. The eyes, doubtless, were turned away from me. I drew a long breath. Another sigh echoed my own. Was it from the breast of Rouletabille—was it the Lady in Black, who perhaps, had at the same time as myself endured the weight of those piercing eyes?