The Ministers, the Senators,—Tolstoi, Golóvkin, Shafiroff, Apraksin, Streshneff, Dolgorúki, were all his friends, and would side with him. Bauer in Poland, the Archimandrite Petchorski in the Ukraine, Sheremetieff with all his forces.
“From the European frontier all would belong to me.”
Afanássieff was listening with his usual stubborn, morose expression, which as much as said: The talk is all very fine, but how will it work?
“And what about Ménshikoff?” he queried, when Alexis had ended.
“Ménshikoff will be impaled.”
The old man shook his head.
“Why talk so rashly, my lord? What if some one should hear and report? Curse not the king—no, not in thy thought—and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber, for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter——”
“Oh, stop that meandering,” the Tsarevitch waved his hand in annoyance, and yet with an unrestrainable sense of joy.
Afanássieff was roused.