Meanwhile the cheerful prophecies of Clémence about the children had been amply fulfilled. They grew in strength and beauty as well and as quickly as they could have done beneath the beams of a southern sun. Alexander and Feodor had now a little fair-haired brother Henri to play with and take care of, and, to their great delight, a baby sister also to admire and caress. She had recently been baptized by the name of Victoire, because, as Clémence said, “the eldest daughter of the House of Talmont used always to be called Victoire.”
A winter of very unusual severity, which surprised Ivan and his household in one of the most northerly settlements of his circle, for the first time since he left Europe cut him off completely for some months from the world of civilization. Towards the end of January violent snow-storms set in, continuing for weeks with little intermission, and rendering impassable the poor apologies for roads which were all that he as yet had been able to construct. So the great fast before Easter found him still sending out fatigue parties to clear the paths, and watching anxiously for the first adventurous sledger who should make his way across the fields of ice and snow with despatches from Tobolsk.
Easter eve came at last; and still isolation and solitude reigned at Novoi Nicolofsky,—as Ivan, in memory of his early home, had named this settlement, of which he was the founder. The short day had closed; and Ivan, robed in furs from head to foot, came in from his manifold labours to enjoy a quiet half-hour with Clémence. He was now about two-and-thirty, and looked even older; for thought and toil and the habit of command had set their seal upon his broad, open forehead. Yet he had lost nothing of his frank, cheerful air; and when he flung off his furs, and seated himself at the fire by the side of Clémence, they looked as handsome and as happy a couple as could have been found in any land or clime.
With a smile of welcome Clémence laid aside her work—a little pair of reindeer-skin moccasins. “I am glad you have come so early, Ivan,” she said. “We can have a few minutes’ quiet talk before we go down to the church to listen to the reading. How pleasant it is to keep, here in the far north, our dear Russian custom of the Easter evening Bible reading!”
“Yes; our little church is crowded to-night. I have just been looking in. Vanka the huntsman was reading the story of our Lord’s Passion according to St. John, and I saw many a tearful face and heard many a sob in the stillness. I meant to have read for them myself, but I would not disturb him. I can read by-and-by, when we go there together.”
“What a beautiful custom it is, this reading of God’s Word for his brethren by any poor man who is able to do it!” said Clémence. “Where is Pope Yefim?”
“In his own room, I believe. You know that on Easter eve our priests usually leave the churches to the people.”
“The poor lads who are out on duty miss something.”
“True; but they will have their turn by-and-by. We all must miss something,” he added, smiling. “But then we all have our compensations.”
“I think the want of tidings from our dear ones is our only real trial,” Clémence answered. “I sometimes long to see my mother’s face, Ivan, and to show her our darlings. What a happy little visit that was which she paid us in St. Petersburg before we left! But for that I should have felt the long separation far more.”