most unusual exemption," he said. "Dr. Wylie's lancet is not easily escaped. But I hope, as you have been so fortunate, that you are growing stronger?"
"I scarcely know. I ought to be; for I am not in pain, not hungry, not cold. All that is so strange now, so pleasant. But, pardon me, have I not seen your face before? Where can it have been?"
"I do not remember yours," was the answer. That was not wonderful; for Henri was a melancholy shadow of his former self, with ghastly, shrunken features, and frame reduced to a skeleton. The hardships of a very severe campaign had told also upon Ivan Pojarsky, but in a different way; he looked bronzed and weather-beaten, and much older than he really was.
"I remember now," Henri resumed after a pause. "I saw you during the Occupation, in a church in Moscow. After the service some Russians attacked me, and I might have been killed, but for that brave fellow with one hand. He appealed to you, and you protected me. Ah!" he added with a sigh, "if I had known then what sufferings were before me, I might have prayed you to plunge your sword into my breast!"
"I am glad to find you amongst the living," Ivan said kindly.
"And that day," mused Henri, "was little more than three months ago, while it is but two since we left Moscow. Were there ever two such months since the beginning of the world?"
"Of suffering?—I think not," said Ivan thoughtfully, as he took a seat beside him.
"Of suffering for us, of glory for you. How you must triumph, you Russians! Five months ago Napoleon crossed your border with half a million of men; and now the miserable remains of that splendid host are dying in your hospitals, pensioners of your bounty. Surely such an overthrow was never seen since Pharaoh and his armies perished in the waters of the Red Sea!"
