“What?” gasped the General, staring at him with dilated eyes. “Why, Froloff, of course! Froloff! The sword broken over your head! The gallows! Ach! I am not a nihilist—heaven forbid!—but I have displeased the Czar. And to displease the Czar—Brr! Imagine the open square-Odessa-No, no, don’t let us talk of it any more!” glancing suddenly about him, as if he feared the platoon of Cossacks were there, in the restaurant, come to drag him away in the name of the Emperor. “Oh! by the way, Prince,” he exclaimed abruptly—“why don’t you ever come to Maisons-Lafitte?”
He must, indeed, have been drunk to address such a question to the Prince.
Zilah looked him full in the face; but Vogotzine’s eyes blinked stupidly, and his head fell partially forward on his breast. Satisfied that he was not responsible for what he was saying, Andras rose to leave the restaurant, and the General with difficulty stumbled to his feet, and instinctively grasped Andras’s arm, the latter making no resistance, the mention of Maisons-Lafitte interesting him, even from the lips of this intoxicated old idiot.
“Do you know,” stuttered Vogotzine, “I, myself, should be glad—very glad—if you would come there. I am bored-bored to death! Closed shutters—not the least noise. The creaking of a door—the slightest bit of light-makes her ill. The days drag—they drag—yes, they do. No one speaks. Most of the time I dine alone. Shall I tell you?—no—yes, I will. Marsa, yes, well! Marsa, she is good, very good—thinks only of the poor-the poor, you know! But whatever Doctor Fargeas may say about it, she is mad! You can’t deceive me! She is insane!—still insane!”
“Insane?” said Andras, striving to control his emotion.
The General, who was now staggering violently, clung desperately to the Prince. They had reached the boulevard, and Andras, hailing a cab, made Vogotzine get in, and instructed the coachman to drive to the Bois.
“I assure you that she is insane,” proceeded the General, throwing his head back on the cushions. “Yes, insane. She does not eat anything; she never rests. Upon my word, I don’t know how she lives. Once—her dogs—she took walks. Now, I go with them into the park—good beasts—very gentle. Sometimes, all that she says, is: ‘Listen! Isn’t that Duna or Bundas barking?’ Ah! if I wasn’t afraid of Froloffyes, Froloff—how soon I should return to Russia! The life of Paris—the life of Paris wearies me. You see, I come here today, I take up a newspaper, and I see what? Froloff! Besides, the life of Paris—at Maisons-Lafitte—between four walls, it is absurd! Now, acknowledge, old man, isn’t it absurd? Do you know what I should like to do? I should like to send a petition to the Czar. What did I do, after all, I should like to know? It wasn’t anything so horrible. I stayed, against the Emperor’s orders, five days too long at Odessa—that was all—yes, you see, a little French actress who was there, who sang operettas; oh, how she did sing operettas! Offenbach, you know;” and the General tried to hum a bar or two of the ‘Dites lui’, with ludicrous effect. “Charming! To leave her, ah! I found that very hard. I remained five days: that wasn’t much, eh, Zilah? five days? But the devil! There was a Grand Duke—well—humph! younger than I, of course—and—and—the Grand Duke was jealous. Oh! there was at that time a conspiracy at Odessa! I was accused of spending my time at the theatre, instead of watching the conspirators. They even said I was in the conspiracy! Oh, Lord! Odessa! The gallows! Froloff! Well, it was Stephanie Gavaud who was the cause of it. Don’t tell that to Marsa! Ah! that little Stephanie! ‘J’ai vu le vieux Bacchus sur sa roche fertile!’ Tautin—no, Tautin couldn’t sing like that little Stephanie! Well,” continued Vogotzine, hiccoughing violently, “because all that happened then, I now lead here the life of an oyster! Yes, the life of an oyster, of a turtle, of a clam! alone with a woman sad as Mid-Lent, who doesn’t speak, doesn’t sing, does nothing but weep, weep, weep! It is crushing! I say just what I think! Crushing, then, whatever my niece may be—cr-r-rushing! And—ah—really, my dear fellow, I should be glad if you would come. Why did you go away? Yes, yes, that is your affair, and I don’t ask any questions. Only—only you would do well to come—”
“Why?” interrupted Andras, turning quickly to Vogotzine.
“Ah! why? Because!” said the General, trying to give to his heavy face an expression of shrewd, dignified gravity.
“What has happened?” asked the Prince. “Is she suffering again? Ill?”