“No, madam, this is not a childish prank. I am sorry.”
He walks away. She hears the measured clinking of his spurs. The parquet floor reflects dimly his tall, erect figure.
“General, have pity!”
The cold, white door has swung to after him. She hears the quiet, pleasant voice of a young official. He raises her from the floor and helps her to find her way out.
XLVIII
They granted a last meeting. A few minutes passed in questions, answers, embraces, and tears.
Boris said very little.
“Don’t cry, mamma. I am not afraid. There is nothing else they can do. They don’t feed you at all badly here. Remember me to all. And you, Natasha, take care of mother. One sacrifice is enough from our family. Well, good-bye.”
He seemed somehow callous and distant. He seemed to be thinking of something else, of something he could tell no one. And his words had an external ring, as though merely to make conversation.
That night, before daybreak, Boris was hanged. The scaffold was set up in the gaol courtyard. The spot where he was buried was kept secret.