"How we triumph, we Russians!" Ivan repeated. "Should you like to know how? Our Emperor said the other day in confidence to a friend, 'This miserable campaign has cost me ten years of my life!'"
"Miserable! when it has been for him and his one long glorious victory!"
"True; but the sufferings he has witnessed have well-nigh broken his heart."
"The sufferings of his enemies," said Henri, as tears filled his eyes.
"They have so cast our own into the shade, that we ourselves almost forget them. Yet you must not think we have suffered nothing. Remember Moscow, our beautiful, our holy city; remember Borodino and the other battles in which the best blood of our country was poured out like water. Moreover, the ice-king has thinned our ranks as well as yours."
"Ah! not so fatally."
"No; we had wholesome food, and warm clothing, and care and comforts for the sick. As a rule, our invalids recovered, while yours died. Yes, oh yes, God has surely given us a great deliverance; would it had been at less cost to others! Look here, monsieur,"—Ivan took a silver medal, new and bright, from his neck, where it hung attached to a sky-blue ribbon. "The Czar has just given one of these to every man who has borne part in this winter's campaign, from the general to the youngest recruit."
Henri examined it with interest. One side bore a Triangle surrounded by rays, and in its centre an Eye.
"What does that mean?" he inquired.
"It is, with us, the symbol of the Divine Presence," Ivan answered, crossing himself. "It typifies the All-seeing and Ever-present—the Three in One. Beneath, you read '1812,' the ever-memorable year when He himself interposed to deliver us. Now, turn the other side."
