Peter struck the table with his fist and bounded to his feet:—
“How dare you?”
The Tsarevitch too had risen and was looking steadfastly at his father. There was a strange and momentary resemblance between these two faces.
“Why use threats, Father?” said Alexis in a low voice. “I am not afraid of you. I fear nothing. You have taken everything from me; you have destroyed everything in me, body and soul. Nothing else remains. You can kill me. Do so. I am quite indifferent.”
His lips moved with a slight smile, in which Peter read only supreme contempt. His fury burst all bounds, and roaring like a wounded beast, he threw himself upon his son, seized him by the throat, and, hurling him to the ground, began to kick him and to beat him with his stick, giving vent the while to the same inhuman roar.
In the palace, people woke in terror from their sleep, and hurried to the quarter whence these sounds came. But no one dared to enter the room of the Tsar. With blanched face, each one crossed himself as he approached the door and heard that sinister sound: there behind the closed door a wild beast might be tearing in pieces a human being.
The Tsaritsa was sleeping on an upper story of the palace; she was hastily roused by attendants and came down half dressed: but she no more than the rest could summon sufficient courage to enter. Only when silence at length reigned in the room did she half open the door, look within, and glide on tiptoe behind her husband.
The Tsarevitch lay on the floor in a dead faint. The Tsar had sunk back into a chair, almost in a state of unconsciousness himself.
The Court physician, Blumentrost, was sent for. He reassured Catherine, who feared that the Tsar had killed his son. The Tsarevitch had been sorely beaten, but no serious wounds nor fractures were discovered. He soon regained consciousness and seemed calm.