Chapter 12

XII

PERE ALEXIS

Koupriane jumped into his carriage and hurried toward St. Petersburg.
On the way he spoke to three agents who only he knew were posted in
the neighborhood of Eliaguine. They told him the route Rouletabille
had taken. The reporter had certainly returned into the city. He
hurried toward Troitski Bridge. There, at the corner of the
Naberjnaia, Koupriane saw the reporter in a hired conveyance.
Rouletabille was pounding his coachman in the back, Russian fashion,
to make him go faster, and was calling with all his strength one of
the few words he had had time to learn, "Naleva, naleva" (to the
left). The driver was forced to understand at last, for there was
no other way to turn than to the left. If he had turned to the
right (naprava) he would have driven into the river. The
conveyance clattered over the pointed flints of a neighborhood that
led to a little street, Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, at the corner of the
Katharine canal. This "alley of the pharmacists" as a matter of
fact contained no pharmacists, but there was a curious sign of a
herbarium, where Rouletabille made the driver stop. As the carriage
rolled under the arch Rouletabille recognized Koupriane. He did
not wait, but cried to him, "Ah, here you are. All right; follow
me." He still had the flask and the glasses in his hands. Koupriane
couldn't help noticing how strange he looked. He passed through a
court with him, and into a squalid shop.

"What," said Koupriane, "do you know Pere Alexis?"

They were in the midst of a curious litter. Clusters of dried herbs
hung from the ceiling, and all among them were clumps of old boots,
shriveled skins, battered pans, scrap-iron, sheep-skins, useless
touloupes, and on the floor musty old clothes, moth-eaten furs, and
sheep-skin coats that even a moujik of the swamps would not have
deigned to wear. Here and there were old teeth, ragged finery,
dilapidated hats, and jars of strange herbs ranged upon some rickety
shelving. Between the set of scales on the counter and a heap of
little blocks of wood used for figuring the accounts of this singular
business were ungilded ikons, oxidized silver crosses, and Byzantine
pictures representing scenes from the Old and New Testaments. Jars
of alcohol with what seemed to be the skeletons of frogs swimming
in them filled what space was left. In a corner of this large,
murky room, under the vault of mossed stone, a small altar stood
and the light burned in a hanging glass of oil before the holy
images. A man was praying before the altar. He wore the costume
of old Russia, the caftan of green cloth, buttoned at the shoulder
and tucked in at the waist by a narrow belt. He had a bushy beard
and his hair fell to his shoulders. When he