"You are right! I never inquired into it. Never asked him if the dream of love were more than a sick girl's fancy? He suffered himself to be bound by that dream. That was the whole of it. In his heart he loved another, and would have sacrificed himself for her. It was all my doing, my fault—for everything I do is faulty, and everything that goes wrong is through me!"
These words were spoken by the Czar of All the Russias, not in bitterness, but with the deep melancholy of conviction. It moved the heart to pity.
Suddenly he turned to Zeneida.
"Do you wish me, then, to grant Pushkin permission to return?"
"No, sire. He is in good hands. Whoever is a true friend to him would rather desire that he should live a happy life far from St. Petersburg!"
This surprised Araktseieff. He threw his pen down and scrutinized Zeneida.
"And for yourself, have you no wishes?" continued the Czar.
"I am leaving St. Petersburg to-morrow, sire!"
"And do you not wish that I should send you back your credentials?"
Oh, how proudly she raised her head at the words! She, too, was a queen, and she proved it.