“Well, the decision rests with you, Tsarevitch, only I won’t go with you to the Pope,” she said in a low voice.
“Not go, what are you thinking about?”
“I won’t,” she repeated, calm as ever, fixedly looking at him. “I have already told Peter Andreitch that I won’t go anywhere with the Tsarevitch except to his father. Let him go alone where he pleases, but I won’t go with him.”
“Afrossinia, what are you talking about? What is the matter with you? Be yourself,” began Alexis: he had grown suddenly pale, his voice had changed. “May God pardon you! How could I live without you.”
“Do as you like, Alexis, but I won’t go; so you’d better not ask me.” She tore the cord off the buttonhole and threw it on the floor.
“Are you mad, girl?” he cried, clenching his fists with sudden anger, “if I take you, you will have to go. You assume too much liberty, have you forgotten who you are?”
“I am what I always was, the faithful servant of his Majesty the Tsar, my sovereign Peter Alexeyevitch. Where the Tsar commands there will I go. I will do as he wishes. I won’t go with you against your father’s will.”
“Ah, is this how you talk now. You have made friends with Tolstoi and Roumiantzev, my assassins. Is this all your gratitude for my love, my kindness? Viper! Viper!”
“What is the good of reviling me, Tsarevitch? I will do as I say.”
He was awed; even his anger went, he grew weak and faint, sank into a chair at her side, took her hand and trying to look into her eyes, said:—