The general pressed his daughter effusively to his broad chest.
“And I hope you will not have further disputing,” he cried, looking over Natacha’s shoulder.
“We promise you that, General,” declared Boris. “Our lives belong to you.”
“You did well, my love. Let us all do as well. I have passed an excellent night, messieurs. Real sleep! I have had just one long sleep.”
“That is so,” said Matrena slowly. “The general had no need of narcotic. He slept like a child and did not touch his potion.”
“And my leg is almost well.”
“All the same, it is singular that those grapes should have disappeared,” insisted the marshal, following his fixed idea.
“Ermolai,” called Matrena.
The old servant appeared.
“Yesterday evening, after these gentlemen had left the house, did you notice a small white box on the garden table?”