Gaston Leroux

“ One can find anything here in Père Alexis’s stock. See; here are two old ikons in wood, carved with sculptures, which came direct from Athos, and can’t be equaled, I assure you, either at Gastini-Dvor nor even at Stchoukine-Dvor.”
“Yes, yes, that is possible,” said Rouletabille, impatiently. “Are you an amateur of such things?” he added, in order to say something.
“Oh, like anybody else. But I was going to tell you, Monsieur Rouletabille, I have resigned my commission. I have resolved to retire from the world; I am going on a long voyage.” ”

“ He made no reply to the chief’s questions.
“This Père Alexander,” resumed Koupriane, “is a character, really quite a figure. And a bit of a schemer, I should say. He has seen how Father John of Cronstadt succeeded, and he says to himself, ‘Since the sailors had their Father John of Cronstadt, why shouldn’t the police-guard have their Father Alexis of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok?’”
But Rouletabille did not reply at all, and Koupriane wound up by demanding what was the matter with him.
“The matter is,” replied Rouletabille, unable longer to conceal his anguish, “that the poison continues.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ But it proved to be—nothing, alas!”
“Sometimes one only imagines things,” said Rouletabille, keeping his hand on the door.
“Oh, yes,” said the other, growing more and more melancholy. “So a man suffers. He is his own tormentor; he himself makes the wheel on which, like his own executioner, he binds himself.”
“It is not necessary, monsieur; it is not necessary,” counseled the reporter.
“Listen,” implored Boris in a voice that showed tears were not far away. “You are still a child, but still you can see things. Do you believe Natacha loves me?”
“I am sure of it, Monsieur Boris ”

“ He accumulated a few roubles and installed himself on his own account at the back of a court in the Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, where he gradually piled up a heap of old odds and ends that no one wanted even in the Stchoukine-dvor. ”