would come and talk to me." At that moment his confidential attendant, Volkonski, entered the room, and told him, with much ill-humour, that there was a lady in the ante-chamber who insisted upon seeing him, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour.
"I cannot get rid of her, sire," said the irritated aide-de-camp.
Alexander inquired her name.
"Madame de Krudener."
"Ask her to come in," said the Emperor. He afterwards told a friend that he felt as though he were dreaming, so strange did the coincidence appear to him.
Madame de Krudener entered. Certainly she did not fear the face of man. She prophesied no smooth things to the monarch of all the Russias. Perhaps she scarcely knew how far God had led him already; for she told him, with uncompromising boldness, that never yet had he come to the foot of the cross with the prayer of the publican on his lips, and that until he did so there could be neither pardon nor peace for him. Much more she added, perhaps not altogether wisely; but since she held up Christ and his cross before him, there was power in her words to reach and to bless a heart which had been prepared of the Lord to receive them. Seeing him affected even to tears, she apologized for her boldness, and would have paused, but he entreated her to go on. This proved the first of numerous interviews.
Many a quiet talk over the Bible, prolonged into the hours of the early morning, took place in the labourer's cottage at Heidelberg, where Madame de Krudener had established herself in order to be near the Emperor. The young Swiss pastor, Empaytaz, who shared in these conversations, has left a brief record of them. One day he summoned courage to ask the Emperor plainly, "Sire, have you now peace with God? Are you assured of the pardon of your sins?"
