But even then a shadow was falling over their happy home. The little Rosebud, so lovingly watched and tended, was fading quickly. When Ivan returned that night from the Winter Palace, with its splendour, its lights, its music, his own dwelling was hushed and still. The Master had come for their treasure. Unmurmuringly, though with tearful eyes and aching hearts, they gave it into his keeping. They might have said, had they known the words,—
“God took thee in his arms, a lamb untasked, untried;
He fought the fight for thee, he won the victory,
And thou art sanctified.”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
MORNING SUNSHINE.
“The lonely glory of a throne
May yet this lowly joy deserve;
Kings may make that a stepping-stone,
And change ‘I reign’ into ‘I serve.’”
Two or three weeks later Clémence sat alone one afternoon. A bright wood fire burned on the hearth, and on a little table near her lay a pile of needlework—garments for the poor. But just then she was occupied with a letter from her mother, written in happy unconsciousness of the sorrow which had fallen upon her dear ones; and she could not help a few tears which dropped quietly upon the page, full of questions and remarks about their little Rosebud.
While she was reading Ivan came in, with more brightness in his face and animation in his step than had been there since Christmas eve. But he saw the tears, and stooping down kissed her tenderly.
“What is it, m’amie?” he whispered.