On Araktseieff's return to Grusino he had hurried without delay to the mausoleum, and, barring the door behind him, had cast himself down beside Daimona's coffin, and for two whole days nothing was heard within but his bitter sobs. He would eat nothing, would make no answer to words or entreaties. "Daimona" was the only sound he uttered.
He had loved that woman as only giant beasts love their mates; when the hunter has shot the female he may shoot the male, for it will not leave its dead. For two whole days Araktseieff's household in vain besieged the door of the mausoleum; Chevalier Galban's representations also that he should come out and take care of his valuable life were fruitless; he paid no heed to his faithful followers. In vain they called him their sweet, good master, "sweet friend," "Alexis Andreovitch"; he was deaf to their voices.
On the third day Photios, the Archimandrite of the Monastery of St. George, came to the mausoleum. He is the holy man, to receive whose blessing hundreds of thousands make the yearly pilgrimage to the monastery from all parts of Russia. The decree of the saint is as much esteemed as is a papal bull.
When Czar Alexander I. gave into the hands of Prince Galitzin, the freethinker, the portfolio of Public Instruction, the Archimandrite, going up to the Czar, exclaimed threateningly:
"If you take the ancient faith from your people you will shake your empire to its foundations."
Whereupon the Czar dismissed Prince Galitzin, and the education of the people was left in the hands of the Sacred Synod. Russians always have their "living saints," some of them miraculous.
Photios, standing at the door of the mausoleum, called to Araktseieff within, in language unmistakably plain.
"Abandoned criminal, come out!"
The cries within were silenced.
"Come out from there!"