“How can they say their prayers if they are dumb?” queried Stéphanie.
“They speak with their fingers, dear,” Clémence explained in a lower tone. “I will tell you all about it another time. I have seen a poor boy examined who was taught by the Abbé Sicard. It was wonderful and beautiful. He knew far more than many a child who could hear, and he felt what he knew.”
“His Imperial Majesty,” Emile was saying meanwhile, “who has all the affairs of the world on his shoulders, and can scarcely find time to be commonly courteous to the fair ladies who adore him, found time enough to hear all the ‘methods,’ as they call them, of this fanatical priest; and has given him the Order of St. Ladislaus, or St. Laocoon, or something.”
“The Order of St. Wladamir, you mean,” said Ivan very quietly. “When the Czar returns home, he will probably establish a school for the deaf and dumb in St. Petersburg, like that of the Abbé Sicard here.[54] I thank you for telling us all this, M. Emile. Do you take liqueur? I can recommend this curaçoa.”
“Curse his effrontery!” thought Emile. “Will nothing disconcert him? I will take another way with him, however.”
After the party rose from table, the De Talmonts had a short walk to the place where the carriage was to meet them; and their friends accompanied them. M. de Sartines gave his arm to Madame de Talmont, and Stéphanie clung to Clémence, so that Emile and Ivan were obliged to bring up the rear together, not greatly to the satisfaction of the latter. To the former, however, it was a precious and longed-for opportunity.
“M. de Sartines is a very well-bred sort of man,” he explained to Ivan,—“though I, of course, am not fond of Legitimists and believers in ‘divine right.’ It may be four or five years now since he gave offence, in some way or other, to Savary, the late superintendent of police, and was requested to quit the Empire. He has just come back in the train of Louis Dix-huit, with a great many more who are less wanted.—Peste! the whole city is full of these white cockades; one would think there was snow in May time.—I suppose that by this time you know all the family affairs, M. Posharky, and they have told you that long ago, before he left Paris, M. de Sartines was betrothed to my cousin Clémence.”
Ivan’s sudden, irrepressible start, and the deadly paleness that overspread his face, gave the keenest gratification to Emile. “But he is so old, he might be her father,” he said at last.
“That does not matter in the least,” returned the spiteful Emile. “He is an excellent parti—has a good property, settled principles, and all that. Do you not see how devoted Clémence is to that amiable and precocious young lady, Mademoiselle Stéphanie? She will make an admirable step-mother; though I cannot say I envy her the charge.”
“But, at the time you say it was arranged, Mademoiselle Clémence must have been only a child.”