As on that terrible day at Naples in his delirium, and a few days since in Preobrazhensky, the Tsarevitch shivered and trembled. But he hoped still; surely his father would presently embrace him, say that he still loved him, and all these terrors would vanish for ever.
“I know you love me,” he kept repeating under his breath to himself, like some formula of faith. Nevertheless his heart beat with dread.
He dropped his eyes and dared not lift them, feeling his father’s heavy steadfast glance upon him. Both remained silent. All was hushed around them.
“Did you hear,” Peter said at last, “what has just been declared before the people? one concealment will cost you your life.”
“I heard it, father.”
“And have you nothing to add to what you declared the day before yesterday?”
Alexis remembered his mother, and again he felt he could not betray her, even though it meant instant death. “Nothing,” said he; as though some one else, not himself, had spoken.
“Are you sure there is nothing?” repeated Peter.
Alexis remained silent.
“Speak!”