“Has this been really written under pressure?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Peter rose, went into the next room, called an orderly, gave him some order, then returned to his table and began to write down his son’s depositions.
Footsteps were heard outside the door. It opened, and Alexis gave a feeble cry as though he were about to faint: on the threshold stood Afrossinia.
He had not seen her since he left Naples. No longer with child, she had probably been delivered in the fortress where, as James Dolgorúki had told him, she had been incarcerated on her arrival in Petersburg. “Where is the child?” thought the Tsarevitch. He trembled from head to foot. His first impulse was to rush towards her, but his father’s steadfast gaze checked him, and he remained rooted to the spot. Only his eyes sought to meet hers, but she seemed unconscious of his presence.
Peter addressed her in a kind voice:—
“Is it true, Afrossinia, as the Tsarevitch tells me, that he was compelled by the Emperor to write this letter to the Bishops and Senators?”
“It is false,” she replied, in a calm voice; “no stranger was present, I alone was in the room with the Tsarevitch at the time. He told me he was writing some letters which were to be distributed secretly in Petersburg, while others were to be sent to the Bishops and Senates.”
“Afrossinia! Afrossinia! What are you saying!” stammered Alexis in terror.