“He would willingly have been there, madame,” said Ivan bowing. “But to-morrow you will find it easier to distinguish them. At the grand religious ceremony all will be present. You will see the royal personages assembled in the tent where they are to hear the service.”
“Ah,” said Stéphanie, “that will be delightful! I am longing to see the great English Duke Vellington, who conquered General Buonaparte,—or the ex-Emperor, as one may say,” she added considerately, with a sly glance at Emile.
Their expectations were not disappointed. The solemn pageant of the following day was graced by a glittering galaxy of royal stars, upon which no eye could rest without emotion. Beside Alexander stood the wayward, ungainly Constantine, unlike him in all but brotherly love; and next to him, the young Grand Dukes, Nicholas and Michael. The King of Prussia was there, with his two sons,—one of them destined to wear hereafter an imperial diadem; the Emperor of Austria, with some members of his family; and, most admired of all perhaps, little Stéphanie’s hero, the Iron Duke.
But the sense of these great earthly presences passed away and was forgotten in the solemn awe of the scene that followed. “An immense army of conquerors” all at the same instant fell on their knees in prayer and thanksgiving. Each regiment, led by its own chaplain, moved in harmony with the rest. Magnificent vestments, fragrant incense, and the most exquisite vocal music contributed their charms; until, to those who witnessed it, it seemed as if this worship scarcely belonged to earth. After the breathless, spell-bound silence that followed the last chanted psalm of praise, Clémence faltered tearfully, “I think it is like that perfect worship in the courts above, where the great multitude, whom no man can number, fall on their faces before the Throne.”
“Ah, sister mine!” said Henri with a sigh, “there is no perfect worship here. And this,—beautiful as it is, is far indeed from perfect. I doubt even whether it is quite in accordance with what we know of the will of God. But,” he added softly, “‘the good Lord pardon every one that prepareth his heart to seek the Lord God of his fathers, though he be not cleansed according to the purification of the sanctuary.’”
The religious service over, the guests strolled through the camp, enjoying the sweet summer weather, and the curious and interesting sights that met their view on every side. Amongst the crowd of visitors there was no happier party than that of Madame de Talmont. Joy had ripened the quiet grace of Clémence into a sweet and rare loveliness; there was a soft and steady light in her dark eyes, and the glow of perfect health upon her cheek. She was dressed that day with unusual care; Ivan himself had superintended her toilet for the expedition, and had chosen the simple exquisitely-fitting robe of silver gray silk which she wore. And that morning, before the service, he brought her the loveliest of roses, crimson and cream colour, and fastened them in her belt, “for the Emperor’s fête,” he said.
In the course of the afternoon his friends met him; he was walking with a group of officers of distinguished appearance. Coming to the side of Clémence, he took her hand and led her gently forward. “His Imperial Majesty wishes to be presented to you,” he said quietly.
If Clémence felt a momentary embarrassment, it was quickly dispelled; for a very courteous gentleman was bowing over her hand, and a kind voice was saying pleasant things of “my friend Prince Pojarsky,” and of the welcome which awaited Madame la Princesse for his sake in St. Petersburg. What she answered, or what other introductions followed she scarcely knew, for all that passed seemed like a dream, only far more easy and natural. “That the Emperor!” said Stéphanie afterwards. “I should not have been at all afraid to talk to him myself. He was only a gentleman.”[67]
“Only a gentleman?” Madame de Talmont repeated. “Such gentlemen are not so plentiful, my little Stéphanie.”
“But that Prince Ivan is doubtless well acquainted with the etiquette of his own court, I should say he made a blunder,” observed Madame de Salgues. “A lady, were she the highest of the land, would be presented to the King of France, not the King to the lady.”