And he told everything; named everybody.
Yet when he ended Peter was still waiting for the main point. He had expected a plot, and found none; only words, rumours, gossip, illusory suggestions, on which it was impossible to base real inquiry. Alexis took the whole fault upon himself, and exonerated all the rest.
“When I was drunk I used to say all sorts of things; I could not control my tongue before others, I troubled them by my vain fancies and seditious conversation.”
“But apart from talk, there was no thought for action; for stirring up the people to revolt? Did they not desire to put you in my place by force?”
“No, father, I swear it! Nothing of the sort was ever contemplated. There were words only—words!”
“Did your mother know about the flight?”
“I don’t think she did,” then after a pause he added: “I can say nothing definite about that.”
He stopped short and cast down his eyes. He remembered the visions and prophecies of Bishop Dositheus of Rostoff and other monks, prophecies which his mother believed in and rejoiced at; the fall of Petersburg, the death of Peter, the ascendancy of Alexis. Should he mention this too? Betray his mother? Mortal anguish gripped his heart, he felt he could not speak about this. Besides, his father did not ask for it. What did it matter to him? Could such a man as he be moved by women’s babble?
“Is this all, or have you something else upon your mind?” asked Peter.
“I have, only I know not how to word it. I am afraid.”