Tottering, scarcely in possession of his senses, he hastened through
the hall thronged with petitioners. All bowed before him, all reverently
saluted him; but to him it seemed that he could read nothing but mockery
and malicious joy upon all those smiling faces. Ah, he could
have crushed them all, and trodden them under his feet, in his
inextinguishable rage!
When he finally reached his carriage, and his proud steeds were bearing
him swiftly away--when none could any longer see him--then he gave vent
to furious execrations, and tears of rage flowed from his eyes; he tore
out his hair and smote his breast; he felt himself wandering, frantic
with rage and despair. One thought, one wish had occupied him for many
long years; he had labored and striven for it. He wished to be the
first, the most powerful man in the Russian empire; he would control
the military force, and in his hands should rest the means of giving
the country peace or war! That was what he wanted; that was what he had
labored for--and now. . . .
"Oh, Biron, Biron," he faintly groaned, "why must I overthrow you? You
loved me, and perhaps would one day have accorded me what you at first
refused! Biron, I have betrayed you with a kiss.
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