anointed," he said, "but I can hear his voice." This assembly, like the other, was densely crowded. Feodor contrived to find standing room upon the edge of a seat; and from this vantage-ground he was able to look over the heads of the throng of grave, bearded merchants. "Grandfather," he whispered, "the Czar is not here; only the Governor."
"God save his Excellency Count Rostopchine! Hearts of steel, such as his, are sorely needed now," the old man responded.
"But we can see him any day we like. It is the Czar we want to see," grumbled Feodor.
"Patience, boy; he is coming," said one of the merchants near them. "And, while we wait for him, it is his words the count is going to give us, not his own."
This was true. Amidst a hush of eager expectation, the Governor rose and read aloud the address of the Czar "to our ancient city and metropolis of Moscow." It contained the same explanations and appeals which at that moment in another place were falling from his own lips; and concluded with an earnest exhortation to prepare for "that defence which must now shield the babe at the mother's breast, and guard from sacrilege the tombs of our fathers. The very existence of our name in the map of nations is menaced. The enemy denounces 'Destruction to Russia.' The security of our holy Church, the safety of the throne of the Czars, the independence of our ancient Muscovite Empire, all call aloud that the object of this appeal may be received by our loyal subjects as a sacred decree. May the filial ardour spread itself from Moscow to the extremities of our dominions; and a force will then assemble around the monarch that may defy the thousand legions of our treacherous invader. The ills which he has prepared for us will then fall upon his own head, and Europe, delivered from slavery, may then celebrate the name of—"
"Alexander!" The words sprang from the lips of Feodor
