“...Peter inhaled through his nostrils the freshness of the birch forest, damp sand, and pine logs. Above the earthen crownworks of the fortress, a yellow standard with a black eagle flaps on a high mast. Without looking back, Peter groped for Katerina’s hand behind him. He took her, soft, as if boneless: - Katerina... There is no assistant... There is an heir to the state... Alone... And now in the night, I hear her calling, I hear her calling... I threw her hand away with force. There is silence about Alexy Tsarevich from now on and forever. Quietly he turned his gray face to her, his lip twitching under a cat’s whisker: “Come out, Katya, soul... I must be alone... This night he called me again, son, Alexy, my execution...”