Clémence started, and her sweet face glowed with a sudden colour, then grew pale again as rapidly. “O Ivan!” she exclaimed. “And what did you say to him?”
“What could I say? Is it amongst things possible—conceivable—that my Czar should ask me to help him, and be refused?”
“No; nor that I should wish it. But, Ivan, this will bring a great change into our happy life.”
“These were nearly his own words. He was very kind, he was even tenderly considerate for me and for you, Clémence. He would not, he said, ask from me more than a few years of my life. And for that time, could not your mother come to you?”
“Come to me?” Clémence repeated a little proudly. “Does he—or do you—suppose for one moment I would let you go to Siberia alone?”
“I don’t believe he does,” Ivan answered with a dawning smile upon his serious face. “He added, that should you prefer accompanying me, which indeed was what he expected, every possible comfort and luxury should be provided for you and for the children. ‘A residence in Siberia is not so great a hardship as many men think,’ he said. Still, Clémence, I tremble for our children. They are so young and tender.”
“Children born in St. Petersburg are not likely to suffer much from the severity of any climate short of that of the North Pole,” returned Clémence cheerfully. “God has made our way plain before us, Ivan. We cannot hesitate.”
“So I told the Czar. He would have given me time to reflect, but I said it was needless. I knew that in this I was doing no wrong to you, Clémence, since your heart ever beats in mine.”
“Did he say anything about the time of our departure?”
“Only that the summer is before us now, and that we must not lose it. He spoke with much feeling of the Siberian exiles, and also of the native tribes which are still heathen, and of the missionary work going on amongst them. He said that where he is sending me I would find many ways of promoting the kingdom of Christ.”