“That will be of no use; officially the Kommissars will deny all knowledge of ’is existence. ’e was found wandering in forbidden territory. That is the bad trouble. ’e may know things that the Kommissars do not wish the world to know.”
“You — er — haven’t promised that I shall leave Russia, have you? Only Moscow — ”
She smiled. “No, it is Moskawa only that you must leave, but I can guess, I think, what you will do — you will go searching for your frien’ in the forbidden territory, like the ballalaika player of the old days who search for your King Richard the Lion-’earted. Oh, my little Simon, it is you ’oo are Lion-’earted, but I am frightened for you!”
Simon laughed, a little bashfully. “Doesn’t seem much else to do, does there?”
She left the divan, and went over to an Empire escritoire in which she unlocked a drawer, taking from it a small, square ikon set with pearls. She looked at it carefully for a moment, studying the delicate oval miniature of the Madonna and Child which it contained — then she brought it over to him. “Take this, Batushka, and carry it always with you. It will be of great protection to you.”
“Thank you, my sweet — why are you so good to me?” Simon took the scared picture. “I — er — didn’t know that you were religious — I didn’t think that Russia was religious any more.”
“You are wrong,” she said, quietly. “Many of the popes have been done away with — they were evil, drunken men, unfitted for the service of God. That ees a good thing, but there is freedom of thought in Russia now. One can follow a religion if one will, and Russia — Holy Russia — is unchanging beneath the surface. With a few exceptions, all Russians carry God in their ’eart!”
Simon nodded. “I think I understand — anyhow, I shall always keep this with me.”
“Eef it ees that you are in what you call a ‘muddle’, send the little ikon back to me. Look!” She took it again, quickly, and pressed a hidden spring. “In ’ere you can send a little letter — nobody will find it — all Russia knows Valeria Petrovna. It will come to me surely, wherever I am.”
“Mightn’t it be stolen?” asked Simon, doubtfully. “I mean these pearls — they’re real.”