With faltering steps she approached, and folding her arms around his stalwart form, she laid her head upon his breast, and wept.
"See," murmured she, "I am here to receive the stroke. Let me die by your hand, Gregory Alexandrowitsch, for since you love me no longer, I am weary of life!"
Potemkin heaved a sigh, and freeing himself from Catharine's arms, fell back upon the sofa, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed convulsively.
"Why do you weep, Potemkin?" said Catharine, hastening to his side.
"Why I weep!" exclaimed he. "I weep because of my own crime. Despair had well-nigh made of me a traitor. Why does not this hand wither, which was uplifted to touch the anointed of the Lord! Why does not Heaven smite the wretch whose misery had tempted him to such irreverence of his sovereign!"
And Potemkin flung himself at Catharine's feet, crying out:
"Kill me, Catharine, that I may not go mad for remorse of my treason!"
Catharine smiled, and tried to raise him up.
"No," said she, tenderly, "live, and live for me."
But Potemkin still clung to her feet.