and it was usually added that they stood high in the imperial favour.
On the last evening of his stay in St. Petersburg, Ivan saw one of his acquaintances—a nephew of the Grand-Marshal Tolstoi, and like himself a member of the Chevalier Guard—sitting apart absorbed in a book. The stirring romance of real life had of late driven all other romances out of the mind of Ivan; but the sight of an interested reader awakened his slumbering tastes. He came to the side of Tolstoi—a gay, good-natured youth, to whom he could say anything he pleased. "Is that a new book which you seem to like so much?" he asked.
"I am ashamed to confess it is new to me, or was so until lately," returned Tolstoi.
"What is it? A romance? I should think it a kindness if you would lend it to me when you have done with it yourself."
"Look at it," said Tolstoi, placing it in his hand.
It was in French, as Ivan expected; but its appearance was different from that of any French book he had ever seen before. Although divided into chapters and verses, it was evidently not poetry, and very sacred names were of frequent occurrence. He turned to the opening page, and exclaimed in surprise, "The New Testament!—how strange!"
"Why should it be strange?" said Tolstoi simply. "What better book could I find to read?"
"What is it all about?" asked Ivan. "Of course I know there are the holy gospels, but this book seems to contain a great deal besides."
"Oh! I cannot tell you in a moment. Read it for yourself, and you will soon learn to love it well."
Ivan turned back again to the page with which his friend had been occupied, and which he had kept open with his finger. He read these words: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them
