“Poor, poor boy! would I not do it for you? But what is the use? Would he allow himself to be influenced in the least degree? I should only injure your cause the more.”
And casting a furtive glance around to make sure that no one was listening, she brought her lips close to his ear and hurriedly whispered:—
“Your case is desperate; my poor boy; so bad that you ought to fly at once; leave everything and fly!”
In came Tolstoi. Catherine, leaving the Tsarevitch, quickly dried her tears with a lace handkerchief and turned to Tolstoi with her usual cheerful face, and asked him whether he had seen the Tsar, and why he delayed his coming.
On the threshold of the door leading from the adjacent hall appeared the tall, angular figure of a German lady, dressed with no pretention to taste; she had a long, narrow, old-maidish face, shaped somewhat like a horse’s head. She was a princess of East Friesland, ex-maid of honour to the late Crown Princess Charlotte, and was now acting as governess of her two orphan children. She had such a decided, commanding air that all involuntarily made way before her. She carried the little boy Peter in her arms and led Natasha, now four years old, by the hand.
The Tsarevitch scarcely recognised his children; it was so long since he had seen them.
“Mais, saluez donc monsieur votre père, mademoiselle!” whispered the old lady to Natasha, who had stopped evidently unable to recognise her father. The little boy first stared at Alexis in curiosity, then turned away, waved his little arms and started to cry aloud.
“Natasha, Natasha, darling!” said the Tsarevitch stretching out his arms to her.
She raised to him her large sad eyes, pale blue, like her mother’s, smiled, ran up to him and threw her arms round his neck.
In came Peter: he glanced at the children and said in an angry voice to the Princess, in German: