danger, because ladies always take care to be in the fashion. Dame Fashion herself has become a Russian just now. We have bonbons à la Cosaque, bonnets à la Rostopchine, dinner services adorned with pictures of the entry of the Allies, and I know not what follies besides. But it is the most wonderful triumph of Alexander that he is actually bringing into fashion the very thing most scorned and laughed at in the Paris of our days. Can you guess what I mean?"
"Good manners and decorum," said Madame de Salgues.
"Religion," said Madame de Talmont.
"You are right, ma cousine," answered Emile. "Alexander ascribes all his victories, not to his own skill or prowess, nor to that of his army, but to Providence. Strange to say, his followers do the same. Veteran officers scarred with wounds and decorated with orders, and brilliant young guardsmen evidently of the first fashion, hold the same language. They tell you, apparently with the most naïve simplicity, that God, not themselves, has done it all.[1] Our Parisians, who for years have scarcely uttered the name of God except to scoff at it, find this piety delightful—for a change. But the clear-sighted understand that this sort of language is dictated, if not by policy, at least by a refined and delicate courtesy. They are gentlemen, these Russians, and they adopt this tone to avoid wounding our sensitive pride."
"Do you then find it so much easier to believe in chivalrous courtesy towards man than in piety towards God?" asked Clémence.
Emile did not answer; and, after a pause, Madame de Talmont observed,—
"But you said there were generous deeds as well as gracious words. Those, after all, are the most reliable; and at least it is pleasant to hear of them."
"Then I have one to tell of, certainly upon a scale of im-
- ↑ Englishmen who were in Paris during 1814 bear testimony to this interesting fact.
