Clémence would gladly have accompanied Ivan to some of Madame de Krudener’s meetings; and Madame de Talmont, though she had her objections, might have gone also, but for the determined opposition of Madame de Salgues. “In my time,” said the lady of the old régime, “women did not preach; and certainly, if they had done so, ‘gens comme il faut’ would not have gone to hear them. Why should you need Madame de Krudener to tell you to repent and believe? I suppose you hear those Christian duties inculcated every Sunday and holiday when you go to church.”
“Many people go to hear Madame de Krudener who never enter a church,” Clémence observed.
“That is possible,” returned Madame de Salgues. “Sick people, who will not eat wholesome food, sometimes take a fancy for extraordinary messes, and a wise doctor gives them their way. But you, my dear niece, are certainly not in that position.”
“Madame de Krudener does not always speak; sometimes it is M. Empaytaz, a Swiss pastor, who gives the address,” Clémence ventured again.
“Worse and worse, my dear! A Protestant!” cried Madame de Salgues in a tone of horror. “I sometimes wonder what the world is coming to. All barriers, all distinctions seem to be swept away in these revolutionary days.”
Henri was sitting in another part of the room, occupied with a book; and none, save Clémence, noticed the flush of pain that overspread his face at these words.
Ivan and Clémence agreed that it would not be right for the latter to set aside the expressed wish of a relative to whom she owed so much. Therefore, instead of listening to Madame de Krudener or Empaytaz, she studied the Bible diligently, both alone and with Ivan, and lost nothing by going to the fountainhead, instead of to streams, not always of undeniable purity.
Yet her desire to see and hear the remarkable woman whose words were making so great an impression was very natural, and was destined at length to be gratified. One morning, while the family were seated at their eleven o’clock déjeûner, they were honoured by a visit from Stéphanie de Sartines. The little girl was intensely conscious of a new silk dress—green shot with pink, which shone and glistened with each of her quick, restless movements—and of a large Tuscan hat adorned with a wreath of blush roses. She exchanged greetings, in a highly satisfied tone, with every one in the room, and then, coming to the side of Clémence, began as usual, “Papa says he will allow me—”
The smile that passed round the group was not unnoticed by the observant Stéphanie. She looked up quickly, but resumed her little speech after a moment’s hesitation. “Papa says he will allow me to go and hear Madame de Krudener preaching to the children, if you will be kind enough to accompany me, mademoiselle,—I mean Madame la Princesse; and if M. le Prince will permit you,” she continued, bowing towards Ivan with the air of a little queen.
“If no one objects more than I do, Madame la Princesse is quite at your service, mademoiselle,” answered Ivan, with a smile and a bow as ceremonious as her own.—“I am on duty to-day, as you are aware, m’amie,” he added in a lower voice to Clémence.