CHAPTER XXX.
THE PURPLE BROCADE ONCE MORE.
"He says, 'God bless him!' almost with a sob,
As the great hero passes; he is glad
The world holds mighty men and mighty deeds."
George Eliot.
THREE or four days later, a solemn council met in the parlour of Madame de Salgues to consider the proposal for the hand of Clémence formally made the previous evening by Ivan to Madame de Talmont. The council consisted only of three persons—Madame de Salgues, Madame de Talmont, and Henri—the two most immediately concerned being, as a matter of course, excluded. The Czar was expected in Versailles that day; and Ivan, knowing that his only chance of a word from him was to be found in placing himself once more amongst his wounded comrades, had gone to the hospital. Clémence was in her own chamber, on her knees, her hot face pressed down upon the coverlet of her bed. Yet she was scarcely praying. The hopes, the fears, the wishes that stirred timidly in the depths of her heart were too vague to clothe themselves in words. Not even into the ear of her mother could she have found voice to breathe them; especially since the rigid conventionalities amidst which she had been brought up forbade her to acknowledge that she had hopes or fears or wishes at all. But kneeling there, she felt herself in the presence of One who knew all, who understood each subtle turn and winding of the heart that did not
