“You are right, ma cousine,” answered Emile. “Alexander ascribes all his victories, not to his own skill or prowess, nor to that of his army, but to Providence. Strange to say, his followers do the same. Veteran officers scarred with wounds and decorated with orders, and brilliant young guardsmen evidently of the first fashion, hold the same language. They tell you, apparently with the most naïve simplicity, that God, not themselves, has done it all.[52] Our Parisians, who for years have scarcely uttered the name of God except to scoff at it, find this piety delightful—for a change. But the clear-sighted understand that this sort of language is dictated, if not by policy, at least by a refined and delicate courtesy. They are gentlemen, these Russians, and they adopt this tone to avoid wounding our sensitive pride.”
“Do you then find it so much easier to believe in chivalrous courtesy towards man than in piety towards God?” asked Clémence.
Emile did not answer; and, after a pause, Madame de Talmont observed,—
“But you said there were generous deeds as well as gracious words. Those, after all, are the most reliable; and at least it is pleasant to hear of them.”
“Then I have one to tell of, certainly upon a scale of imperial magnificence. Alexander has just restored to freedom—without ransom and without conditions—all the Frenchmen who are prisoners in Russia. It is said they number one hundred and fifty thousand. They are to return immediately to France.—How?—what is it, my cousins?—what has happened?” It was no wonder he asked, for at his words Madame de Talmont had fainted.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
DRIFTING.
“To that new land which is the old.”
