The old man bent over him. Tears stood in his eyes.
“Get up, get up, your Highness! I swear by the Lord that I tell you the plain truth, without any politics. So far as I know the Emperor, nothing will induce him to deliver you up to your father. Such an action would be degrading to the honour of his Majesty and against universal justice, a sign of barbarism.” He embraced the Tsarevitch and kissed him with fatherly tenderness.
When they returned to the Reception Hall, Alexis’ face, though still pale, was calm and resolute. He approached Tolstoi, and neither sitting down himself nor inviting him to do so, gave him to understand that the audience was over, saying:—
“It is dangerous to return into my father’s angered presence. The reason why I dare not return I will explain in a letter to my protector, his Imperial Majesty. I may also write to my father in reply to his letter, which will be my definite answer. At present I can say nothing, for this matter requires consideration.”
“If your Highness has any conditions let me know them,” Tolstoi began in his insinuating voice, “I believe your father will consent to everything. He will even permit you to wed Afrossinia. Think it well over; you might see it in a different light to-morrow morning. We shall have enough time to talk it over, we have not met for the last time.”
“There is nothing for us to discuss, and nothing to meet for. How long do you intend staying here?”
“I am ordered,” replied Tolstoi in a low voice, and the Tsarevitch thought he saw his father’s look in Tolstoi’s eyes, “I am ordered not to leave this place without you. And should you be removed somewhere else I must follow you.”
Then he added in a lower voice:
“Your father will not rest until he has got you, either alive or dead.”
The velvety paw had shown its claws, and then promptly drawn them in again. He again made a deep bow, even tried to kiss Alexis’ hand, but the latter pulled it away.