de Talmont almost at the same moment. Clémence looked anxiously at Ivan, and Henri started up indignantly. "I, at least, will not stay to listen to such folly," he said.
"A truce, for once, to your championship of the Czar," said Emile. "I suppose Prince Ivan may speak now."
Ivan might have answered angrily, but for certain words which thrilled through his heart, taking all the bitterness out of Emile's reckless taunts: "Esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt"—only he said "the treasures of Russia" and the magnificent crown jewels he had seen in St. Petersburg flashed before his eyes in a dazzling, bewildering maze of light and colour. For a moment he did not speak; then he asked, with a gentleness that surprised every one, "What were you going to say, Emile?"
"Nothing—at least not much," was the rather apologetic answer. "Rumour always exaggerates things, and most especially the rumour of St. Germain. Perhaps it is not true, after all, that Madame de Krudener makes the Emperor Alexander fast and wear sackcloth; or that she has persuaded him he is the white angel of peace, and Napoleon the black demon of war; or that—but, as I say, these may be foolish stories. Still it seems to be undeniable that the consummate artist, who last year played the rôle of magnanimous conqueror with such éclat amongst us, is now assuming, by way of variety, that of medieval saint. Henri Quatre is masquerading in the guise of St. Louis. Seriously,—what has come over him, Prince Pojarsky? Is his mind really affected, or is it all some deep-laid political scheme?"
"Certainly, Emile, I am amazed at your audacity," Madame de Salgues interposed again. "Prince Ivan has the patience of a saint."
"From your lips, madame," said Ivan bowing, "I accept the name as a compliment; though others, it seems, use it for a reproach.—Emile, I am not careful to answer you in this matter.
