Along the echoing passages of the fortress steps were heard, the call of sentinels, the noise of locks and bolts. The officer on duty knocked at the door, and announced Weingart, the secretary of the Imperial Viceroy in Naples.
An asthmatical, stout man entered the room with many bows; his face was the colour of raw beef, the under lip drooped, his small eyes like those of a pig seemed lost in his fat face. As with many rascals, he had an artless good-natured look about him. Æsop’s verdict on him was, “a wily beast!”
Weingart presented the Tsarevitch with a case of Moselle; observing the incognito, he addressed him as “His Excellency the Count.” For Afrossinia, whose hand he kissed with much gallantry, he had brought a basket of fruit and flowers. At the same time he handed over letters which had arrived from Russia and communicated a verbal message from Vienna:—
“In Vienna they were pleased to learn that His Excellency the Count was enjoying good health. Much patience is required, and now more than ever. The latest piece of news, which might be of interest, is a rumour apparently fast gaining ground, that the Tsarevitch has disappeared. Some suppose he escaped from his father’s cruelty, others believe he has been put to death by the Tsar’s instigation, others again fear he has fallen among murderers and lost his life on the journey. But no one knows precisely where he is. Here is a report of the Imperial Resident Pleyer to that effect, if your Excellency is at all curious as to what are the current views in Petersburg on the subject. The Emperor’s exact message is as follows: ‘We advise our beloved Tsarevitch, for his own good, to observe strictest incognito, for, on his return to Petersburg, the Tsar will inaugurate a thorough investigation.’”
Then stooping down to Alexis he whispered in his ear:—
“Fear not, your Highness! My information comes from most reliable quarters. The Emperor will not forsake you; and should there be need for it after your father’s death, he is prepared to help you to the throne with armed force.”
“No! no! what are you talking about?” The Tsarevitch stopped him, that feeling again taking possession of him which a few moments since had prompted him to lay the Emperor’s letter aside, “I do hope for God’s sake it will never come to that! war will never be caused by me. It is not this I asked you for, only your protection. I did not even desire anything else. However, I am much obliged to you. May God reward the Emperor for the kindness he has shown to me!”
He ordered one of the Moselle bottles to be opened, in order to drink the Emperor’s health. He went out of the room to fetch some important letters, and on his return he found Weingart engaged in politely explaining to Afrossinia, more by signs it is true than by words, that she did wrong in giving up her man’s clothes which had so admirably suited her.
“L’Amour même ne saurait se présenter avec plus de grâces,” he concluded in French, fixing on her with his little pig’s eyes that look which was so particularly odious to the Tsarevitch.