The Complete Celebrated Crimes - Alexandre Dumas (bts books to read .TXT) 📗

everything she wished, and the young girl’s love was increased by the wishes she opposed and by a feeling of gratified pride.

It was some days after this nocturnal decision that the knouting had taken place at which our readers have assisted. It was for some slight fault, and Gregory had been the victim; Vaninka having complained to her father about him. Foedor, who as aide-de-camp had been obliged to preside over Gregory’s punishment, had paid no more attention to the threats the serf had uttered on retiring.

Ivan, the coachman, who after having been executioner had become surgeon, had applied compresses of salt and water to heal up the scarred shoulders of his victim. Gregory had remained three days in the infirmary, and during this time he had turned over in his mind every possible means of vengeance. Then at the end of three days, being healed, he had returned to his duty, and soon everyone except he had forgotten the punishment. If Gregory had been a real Russian, he would soon have forgotten it all; for this punishment is too familiar to the rough Muscovite for him to remember it long and with rancour. Gregory, as we have said, had Greek blood in his veins; he dissembled and remembered. Although Gregory was a serf, his duties had little by little brought him into greater familiarity with the general than any of the other servants. Besides, in every country in the world barbers have great licence with those they shave; this is perhaps due to the fact that a man is instinctively more gracious to another who for ten minutes every day holds his life in his hands. Gregory rejoiced in the immunity of his profession, and it nearly always happened that the barber’s daily operation on the general’s chin passed in conversation, of which he bore the chief part.

One day the general had to attend a review: he sent for Gregory before daybreak, and as the barber was passing the razor as gently as possible over his master’s cheek, the conversation fell, or more likely was led, on Foedor. The barber praised him highly, and this naturally caused his master to ask him, remembering the correction the young aide-decamp had superintended, if he could not find some fault in this model of perfection that might counterbalance so many good qualities. Gregory replied that with the exception of pride he thought Foedor irreproachable.

“Pride?” asked the astonished general. “That is a failing from which I should have thought him most free.”

“Perhaps I should have said ambition,” replied Gregory.

“Ambition!” said the general. “It does not seem to me that he has given much proof of ambition in entering my service; for after his achievements in the last campaign he might easily have aspired to the honour of a place in the emperor’s household.”

“Oh yes, he is ambitious,” said Gregory, smiling. “One man’s ambition is for high position, another’s an illustrious alliance: the former will owe everything to himself, the latter will make a stepping-stone of his wife, then they raise their eyes higher than they should.”

“What do you mean to suggest?” said the general, beginning to see what Gregory was aiming at.

“I mean, your excellency,” replied Gregory, “there are many men who, owing to the kindness shown them by others, forget their position and aspire to a more exalted one; having already been placed so high, their heads are turned.”

“Gregory,” cried the general, “believe me, you are getting into a scrape; for you are making an accusation, and if I take any notice of it, you will have to prove your words.”

“By St. Basilius, general, it is no scrape when you have truth on your side; for I have said nothing I am not ready to prove.”

“Then,” said the general, “you persist in declaring that Foedor loves my daughter?”

“Ah! I have not said that: it is your excellency. I have not named the lady Vaninka,” said Gregory, with the duplicity of his nation.

“But you meant it, did you not? Come, contrary to your custom, reply frankly.”

“It is true, your excellency; it is what I meant.”

“And, according to you, my daughter reciprocates the passion, no doubt?”

“I fear so, your excellency.”

“And what makes you think this, say?”

“First, Mr. Foedor never misses a chance of speaking to the lady Vaninka.”

“He is in the same house with her, would you have him avoid her?”

“When the lady Vaninka returns late, and when perchance Mr. Foedor has not accompanied you, whatever the hour Mr. Foedor is there, ready, to help her out of the carriage.”

“Foedor attends me, it is his duty,” said the general, beginning to believe that the serf’s suspicions were founded on slight grounds. “He waits for me,” he, continued, “because when I return, at any hour of the day or night, I may have orders to give him.”

“Not a day passes without Mr. Foedor going into my lady Vaninka’s room, although such a favour is not usually granted to a young man in a house like that of your excellency.”

“Usually it is I who send him to her,” said the general.

“Yes, in the daytime,” replied Gregory, “but at night?”

“At night!” cried the general, rising to his feet, and turning so pale that, after a moment, he was forced to lean for support on a table.

“Yes, at night, your excellency,” answered Gregory quietly; “and since, as you say, I have begun to mix myself up in a bad business, I must go on with it; besides, even if there were to result from it another punishment for me, even more terrible than that I have already endured, I should not allow so good, a master to be deceived any longer.”

“Be very careful about what you are going to say, slave; for I know the men of your nation. Take care, if the accusation you are making by way of revenge is not supported by visible, palpable, and positive proofs, you shall be punished as an infamous slanderer.”

“To that I agree,” said Gregory.

“Do you affirm that you have seen Foedor enter my daughter’s chamber at night?”

“I do not say that I have seen him enter it, your excellency. I say that I have seen him come out.”

“When was that?”

“A quarter of an hour ago, when I was on my way to your excellency.”

“You lie!” said the general, raising his fist.

“This is not our agreement, your excellency,” said the slave, drawing back. “I am only to be punished if I fail to give proofs.”

“But what are your proofs?”

“I have told you.”

“And do you expect me to believe your word alone?”

“No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes.”

“How?”

“The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka’s room after midnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you can judge for yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency, all the conditions of the service I wish to render you are to my disadvantage.”

“In what way?”

“Well, if I fail to give proofs, I am to be treated as an infamous slanderer; but if I give them, what advantage shall I gain?”

“A thousand roubles and your freedom.”

“That is a bargain, then, your excellency,” replied Gregory quietly, replacing the razors on the general’s toilet-table, “and I hope that before a week has passed you will be more just to me than you are now.”

With these words the slave left the room, leaving the general convinced by his confidence that some dreadful misfortune threatened him.

From this time onward, as might be expected, the general weighed every word and noticed every gesture which passed between Vaninka and Foedor in his presence; but he saw nothing to confirm his suspicions on the part of the aide-de-camp or of his daughter; on the contrary, Vaninka seemed colder and more reserved than ever.

A week passed in this way. About two o’clock in the morning of the ninth day, someone knocked at the general’s door. It was Gregory.

“If your excellency will go into your daughter’s room,” said Gregory, “you will find Mr. Foedor there.”

The general turned pale, dressed himself without uttering a word, and followed the slave to the door of Vaninka’s room. Having arrived there, with a motion of his hand he dismissed the informer, who, instead of retiring in obedience to this mute command, hid himself in the corner of the corridor.

When the general believed himself to be alone, he knocked once; but all was silent. This silence, however, proved nothing; for Vaninka might be asleep. He knocked a second time, and the young girl, in a perfectly calm voice, asked, “Who is there?”

“It is I,” said the general, in a voice trembling with emotion.

“Annouschka!” said the girl to her foster-sister, who slept in the adjoining room, “open the door to my father. Forgive me, father,” she continued; “but Annouschka is dressing, and will be with you in a moment.”

The general waited patiently, for he could discover no trace of emotion in his daughter’s voice, and he hoped that Gregory had been mistaken.

In a few moments the door opened, and the general went in, and cast a long look around him; there was no one in this first apartment.

Vaninka was in bed, paler perhaps than usual, but quite calm, with the loving smile on her lips with which she always welcomed her father.

“To what fortunate circumstance,” asked the young girl in her softest tones, “do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at so late an hour?”

“I wished to speak to you about a very important matter,” said the general, “and however late it was, I thought you would forgive me for disturbing you.”

“My father will always be welcome in his daughter’s room, at whatever hour of the day or night he presents himself there.”

The general cast another searching look round, and was convinced that it was impossible for a man to be concealed in the first room—but the second still remained.

“I am listening,” said Vaninka, after a moment of silence.

“Yes, but we are not alone,” replied the general, “and it is important that no other ears should hear what I have to say to you.”

“Annauschka, as you know, is my foster-sister,” said Vaninka.

“That makes no difference,” said the general, going candle in hand into the next room, which was somewhat smaller than his daughter’s. “Annouschka,” said he, “watch in the corridor and see that no one overhears us.”

As he spoke these words, the general threw the same scrutinizing glance all round the room, but with the exception of the young girl there was no one there.

Annouschka obeyed, and the general followed her out, and, looking eagerly round for the last time, reentered his daughter’s room, and seated himself on the foot of her bed. Annouschka, at a sign from her mistress, left her alone with her father. The general held out his hand to Vaninka, and she took it without hesitation.

“My child,” said the general, “I have to speak to you about a very important matter.”

“What is it, father?” said Vaninka.

“You will soon be eighteen,” continued the general, “and that is the age at which the daughters of the Russian nobility usually marry.” The general paused for a moment to watch the effect of these words upon Vaninka, but her hand rested motionless in his. “For the last year your hand has been engaged by me,” continued the general.

“May I know to whom?” asked Vaninka coldly.

“To the son of the Councillor-in-Ordinary,” replied the general. “What is your opinion of him?”

“He is a worthy and noble young man, I am told, but I can have formed no opinion except from hearsay. Has he not been in