[BORIS makes an effort to get at ALEXIS but almost sinks to the floor.]
No use, Boris Shamrayeff! I advise you to hold fast to the table.
BORIS. Why? Why have you done this thing to me?
ALEXIS. Body of St. Michael! I am of one order, you of another. You are a terrorist, a Red; the blood of my brother, shot down in the streets of Kronstadt, the lives of my friends, the preservation of the sacred empire—are these nothing? Nothing—beside your dirty petitions of right! Pah! God has delivered you into MY hands. I, and not you, am the instrument of God to-day! Boris Ivanovitch, can you still hear me? Eh?
BORIS. Yes!
Alexis. So! So! One thing more! Why did I risk my own life to get yours? You would like to know that, wouldn’t you? Why did I let you in here at all? You’d ask that if you could. Ha, ha! Well, it was because men were thinking that Alexis Alexandrovitch wasn’t what he used to be; because I was beginning to think so myself. Because I had begun to doubt my own wits. I had to let myself be brought to bay. I had to look into the muzzle of your pistol. I had to pit my life against yours in a struggle where I had no other weapon, no other help, than this. [He taps his forehead.] I think it unlikely that Constantine will check-mate me in five moves to-day!
BORIS. Fiend! Fiend! Fiend! [He crumples up and falls to the floor.]
ALEXIS. So, it’s over, is it? Well, well, well!
[He takes a cover from the couch and throws it over BORIS and stands over him.]
ALEXIS. [As if exorcising a ghost.] To the night without stars! To the mist that never lifts! To the bottom of nothingness! Peace be with you!