“Give me the paper.”
The document was handed to him. He rent it to fragments and tossed them at their feet.
The smile of triumph accompanying the act provoked Benningsen to fury; in a moment of forgetfulness he smote Paul upon the face. Too late he realised what he had done.
“I have struck the Czar! We are all lost—if he does not die!”
The conspirators shuddered; there was now no retreat.
Flinging himself upon the Czar, Benningsen brought him to the floor. Emboldened by his example the others crowded around. There was a flash of steel.
“Hold!” cried Benningsen. “No bloodshed. No disfiguring mark on the body. A sash, some one!”
Paul, not realising till that moment that resistance might end in death, suddenly lost courage. His words were no longer threatening, but supplicatory.
“Spare—me—I will—abdicate—!”