All at once he recovered consciousness and recognised Tolstoi.
“What do you want of me?”
“Your father sent me——”
“Again to torture me?”
“No, no, Tsarevitch! Fear nothing! It’s not for examination, only for information....”
“I know nothing more, nothing more,” groaned the Tsarevitch tossing on his couch. “Leave me alone! Kill me, only don’t torture me again! If you are afraid to kill me, give me poison or a razor, I will do it myself.—— Only be quick, be quick!”
“What are you talking about, Tsarevitch? Come, come, be quiet!” began Tolstoi in his gentle mellow voice, looking kindly at him. “If God be willing, all will come right. This world is full of strange events. Slow and sure. God Himself has suffered and we too must bear our share of suffering. Do you think I do not pity you, my poor fellow?”
He took out the inevitable snuff-box with the Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess, took a pinch and wiped a tear from his eye.
“Ah, I am sorry for you. I pity you with all my heart. I would give my life for you!——”
And leaning over him he added in a hurried whisper:—