“It can’t be helped, Afrossinia. Get ready, to-morrow we will start for Rome, to the Pope. The Cardinal here told me the Pope will receive us under his protection.”
Afrossinia shrugged her shoulders:
“Idle talk! Tsarevitch, when the Emperor refuses to lend his protection to a poor lost girl like me, how can the Pope do so? He could not because of his clerical position. Besides, he has no army to protect you, should your father appear in force to claim you.”
“Then what can be done, Afrossinia?” he exclaimed, clasping his hands in despair, “a decree from the Emperor has come, to send you away at once. It was difficult to persuade them to wait till the morning; they can at any moment take you away by force. We must escape, escape at once.”
“Escape, where? they’ll catch us anywhere—then it will all come to the same thing. Return to your father!”
“You also, Afrossinia? I see Tolstoi and Roumiantzev have bamboozled you with their fairy tales; you have taken it all in.”
“Peter Andreitch only wishes you good.”
“Good! What do you know? Better hold your tongue. Women have long hair, but short wits. Do you expect to escape torture? Don’t you imagine it. Even your condition will stand you in no stead. With us it is no new thing for women to be delivered in the hour of torture, on a strappado.”
“But your father promised forgiveness——”
“Oh, I know what that means. That’s where he will apply his mercy to me,” and he pointed to the back of his head. “Should the Pope refuse we will go to France, England, the Turk, the Swede, to the devil, but not to my father. Never mention it to me again, Afrossinia! Do you hear? Never!”