their little one was the theme,—sweet converse about "the ransom for that baby paid," and the home to which she had been taken. It was truly "from very heart to very heart" that hour. At last the Emperor rose to take his leave; and not until then did Clémence venture to say something that must be said—something that she might reproach herself all her life if she lost this opportunity of saying.
"Sire, I have one brother, dear to me as my own soul, and he charged me solemnly, if ever I had the privilege of speaking with your Majesty face to face, to tell you that he will bless until his latest hour the aide-de-camp of St. Priest." Then in a few brief words she told the story of Henri's deliverance.
The Czar was much moved. Not so often did the blessings of the many he tried to bless reach his ears. His successor might well say that he "had before his eyes, in his brother, the example of a sovereign whose whole existence was an incessant sacrifice to duty, and who nevertheless had so seldom succeeded in securing even gratitude, at least from his contemporaries." Yet we have evidence that when gratitude came to him he found it very sweet. After a pause, he said gently,—
"Madame, I have only done my duty. What is called the right of reprisal has always seemed terrible to me. The only revenge we ought to take is in doing good."
By this time the Emperor's famous coachman, Ilya, who had spent the evening with the servants of Ivan, a much-honoured and fêted guest, had in readiness the unpretending sledge in which his imperial master drove about his capital.
"Have you forgiven me, dearest?" asked Ivan, when he returned from attending their august visitor to the door. "It is the first time I ever kept a secret from you."
Clémence looked in his radiant face, and her only answer was a smile.
"He is charmed with you," Ivan went on delighted. "I knew it would be so. He admired you even the first day he
