“Truly He is risen, father!”
And they exchanged three kisses.
Alexis felt the familiar touch of the plump, clean shaven cheek, of the soft lips; he recognised also the familiar odour. And again, just as in the days of his childhood, his heart began to throb furiously, and the wild hope: “What if he should really forgive and spare me!” almost took away his breath.
Peter was so tall that he had to stoop nearly every time that he gave the kiss, and so, as his neck and back began to ache, he withdrew to the sanctuary from the besieging crowd.
At six o’clock, when daylight had just broken, they went from the Cathedral into the Senate House, a low, long, whitewashed building, like barracks, which adjoined the church. In the narrow audience halls tables had been spread with Kulitchi and Paschi; eggs, wine and vodka to break the fast.
At the entrance to the Senate House, James Dolgorúki overtook the Tsarevitch and whispered to him that Afrossinia would shortly arrive in Petersburg, that she was well, but that her delivery was daily expected.
In the vestibule the Tsarevitch met Catherine the Empress; she looked young and pretty in her gorgeous robe made of white brocade, which had the double eagle worked in pearls and diamonds on the front; she wore the pale blue St. Andrew’s ribbon across her shoulder and a diamond star. Her face, slightly touched up by rouge and powder, looked young and attractive. Receiving her guests, she, like a good hostess, greeted them all with her uniform, affected smile. She had a smile for the Tsarevitch also, and he kissed her hand. She embraced him three times, and they exchanged the Easter greeting, the red eggs. Just as she was about to leave him, suddenly he fell at her feet, and cast upon her a glance so distraught that she retreated slightly from him.
“Sovereign Lady! Have pity upon me! intercede with my father on my behalf, so that he may allow me to marry Afrossinia. I ask nothing else. God is my witness! My life will not be for long. I should wish to withdraw myself far from you, and to die in peace. Have compassion, Mother! for this joyous holy day’s sake!——”
And again he looked at her in such a fashion that she grew afraid. Suddenly her face trembled and she began to cry. Catherine was not averse to shedding tears, and was in fact a mistress in the art. Russians were in the habit of saying that she had the gift of tears; and foreigners, who were not deceived, declared that she could melt the heart as surely as any Andromache on the stage. Yet now her tears were not feigned; her pity was really stirred for the Tsarevitch.
She bent down to him and kissed his forehead. Under the low dress he perceived the ample white bosom with two charming little dark moles—beauty spots perhaps.