When Alexis recovered he was alone. Theodosius had disappeared as if he had fallen through the ground or melted away into the air.
“What has he been raving about,” thought Alexis, as if waking from a sleep. “The white hood—the crown of Monomachus—madness—melancholy—and how can he tell that the Tsar will die! Where did he get this from? How many times did we despair of his life, God always showed mercy——”
And suddenly he remembered what Kikin had said to him this evening:
“Your father is not so ill as he seems. The last rites of the Church were administered to him on purpose to make people believe he is very ill, but it is only deception. He is only testing you and the others, trying to see how you all will act after his death. You know the fable—‘The mice gathered together to bury the cat, they pranced and danced when suddenly up leapt the cat!—There was an end to the revel.’ As for his taking communion, he has his own views on this subject.”
At the time these words had stung Alexis’ heart with shame and disgust. Yet he purposely let them pass, he was in too good a humour to trouble about anything.
“Kikin is right,” he now decided, and a dead hand seemed to grip his heart. “Yes, all was deception, pretence, dissimulation, devil’s policies, a game of cat and mouse—the cat suddenly leapt up and grabbed—Nothing has been, nothing will be. All these hopes, rhapsodies, dreams about glory, liberty, power were only visions, a delirium, a madness!”
The blue flame lit up for the last time and then went out. Darkness ensued, only the glowing embers peering from under the ashes seemed to wink, smiling like an artful blinking eye. The Tsarevitch felt uneasy. It seemed to him that Theodosius had not gone away, that he remained here somewhere in a corner hiding, holding his breath; that at any moment he would whirl round with his black bat-like wings, and whisper in his ear, “All the power will I give thee and the glory of them, for all is delivered unto me, and unto whosoever I will, I give it.”
“Afanássieff!” called out the Tsarevitch. “Bring a light! be quick!”
The old man coughed and grunted angrily at having to come down from his warm couch.
“And what did I hope for?” the Tsarevitch questioned himself, for the first time recovering full consciousness during those days. “Is it possible?”