“We are late,” Henri observed to Clémence, as he hurried her along.—“Here they come!”
The Czar had already left the hospital, and the stately cavalcade was advancing slowly down the street on its way to the Avenue de Paris. “Let us come to these steps,” said Henri, leading his sister quickly through the throng. “We shall see well here.”
But the senses of Clémence were confused by the glittering train as it passed along. “Where is the Czar?” she asked in haste, making her voice heard with difficulty through the shouts and cheering that filled the air.
“There—in green and gold—on the white horse.”
“Yes; I see him!” she cried, her eye following the direction of Henri’s finger.
On either side of the Czar rode a handsome fair-haired boy, and the bright young faces attracted for an instant the eye of Clémence. “His sons?” she queried.
“Would they were,” answered Henri. “No, he is childless. They are his young brothers, the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael.”
But Clémence scarcely listened, so eager was she to see what Ivan’s Czar was like.
The face was noble, but care-worn and weary, as of a man who had heavy burdens to bear. Just then, however, he turned towards one of the lads, bending his head to catch some laughing remark of his, and a smile flashed like sunlight over his features, revealing a rare and spiritual beauty unseen by her before. She was satisfied.
Henri, meanwhile, was beside himself with excitement. He took off his cap, waved it in the air, then taking advantage of a momentary pause in the incessant and deafening cries of “Vive Alexandre! Vive l’Empereur de Russie!” that filled the street, he shouted aloud, in his clear, high-pitched voice, “Vive l’aide-de-camp de St. Priest!”