"Well, you boys have good times here," (I said dreamily) "I am glad I came. It's great! All these people had enough of our blood. Now—the people rule themselves! Great life!"
"You bet! Stay with us longer and you'll see better things…."
43
Next day,—it was about four,—Pashinsky, who sticks near me thinking
I am his best friend and admirer, punched me with his elbow and said:
"Look, look. Who is coming."
The Emperor, stooping and walking with tottering steps, was passing from the garden into the house. Dr. Botkin was with him. The Emperor's hands were clasped behind him, his eyes were staring downwards. An old, soiled soldier's blouse of khaki flannel was hanging on his spare, bowed, bony body. He was walking slowly, evidently trying to appear indifferent and calm.
I had not seen him for a year and a half or even more. There was more gray in his whiskers,—and to me, at this moment he never seemed to so strikingly resemble his more fortunate English cousin.
They passed very near us. Pashinsky loudly yawned and stretched right in the Emperor's face, who looked at him blankly; but under a dignified and elaborate calm—I detected a spark of wounded majesty. Then he looked at me,—evidently seeing in me nothing but a new jailer,—sighed, and turned his suffering face away. Dr. Botkin looked at me, too; he recognized me with a start.
"Ever see the bloodsucker before? Did you see how I treat him?"
"Never saw him. Where in the hell could I?… As for you—you certainly are some boy!"