"Well, to be truthful, now I am assured of your safety, I would rather forget we are cousins until after the war," said Vera. Henri laughed.
"You don't know what the occupation of Moscow means for us Russians," she added. "Your people have defiled and robbed our holy places, destroyed our homes, ruined and wasted our country at the whim of a vile man who will reap no benefit from his wickedness. What does he propose to do, think you, mon ami? Because Moscow is occupied, do you suppose we Russians are done with?"
"It is only the beginning of our advance, ma cousine; do not flatter yourself with false hopes. If Moscow grows too hot for us, we shall march to St. Petersburg and Napoleon shall be crowned Tsar at St. Isaac's."
"We shall not agree, my friend. For the rest, do not visit me here—it is better not. If we were to argue constantly, I should soon forget that the same blood flows in our veins and I should learn to hate you as at this moment I hate every Frenchman."
Nevertheless the cousins parted friends, though Henri quite agreed that at present it would be better if they did not meet.
Vera walked in the outskirts of the city one afternoon, glad of the calls of some duty which justified the risk of venturing into the fresh air, when she observed a notable episode. An old Russian priest, one of the staff of the Cathedral of the Assumption, driven out of his senses by the persecutions and desecrations which he had witnessed in his beloved city and church, marched alone through the streets carrying a large ikon in his arms and shouting aloud denunciations and menaces against the disturbers of the peace of Holy Russia.
"Thy Holy Temple," he raved, "have they defiled and made Jerusalem a heap of stones—slay them, oh Lord, and scatter them! Shall Thy enemies triumph for ever?" And again:—
"The time shall come when every man who slayeth one of them shall believe that he doeth God service!"
Up the road came half a dozen rowdy French soldiers "on leave of absence". They stood and listened to the priest's raving for a moment, understanding nothing; then one knocked the old man down with a buffet, rolling him in the mud, while the ikon fell to the ground. Instantly there was a rowdy battle for possession of the image, which was quickly pulled in pieces, each piece being carefully scrutinised for precious stones or metal.
"Bah! we might have spared ourselves the trouble—it is brass—the whole thing is not worth fifty centimes!" exclaimed one man, looking angrily at the old priest, sitting dazed and bruised in the mud, mumbling and holding his head.