Irene, by a touching superstition of her mother's, after a long illness, had been dedicated to wear only white; the almost religious simplicity of this garb gave marked individuality to her appearance. As I have already stated, it was the third day of our departure from Khios. Irene, who until then had appeared to observe me with a kind of restless mistrust, and who by degrees had become more friendly, came resolutely towards me and said, with childish solemnity: "Look at me, that I may see whether I am going to love you." Then after having fixed upon me one of those long, piercing glances of which I have spoken, and which compelled me to lower my eyes, Irene continued: "Yes, I shall love you very much." And after a renewed silence, she turned to Madame de Fersen, saying: "Yes, my dear mother, I shall love him very much. I shall love him as I loved Ivan!" In saying these words, her childish face assumed such a fascinating expression of gravity that I could not avoid smiling. But my astonishment was great when I saw Madame de Fersen look with amazement, first at Irene, and then at me, as if she attached a great importance to what her little girl had just said to me. "Although I have nothing now to envy the happy Ivan, this is a declaration, madame, which I much fear will be forgotten ten years hence," said I to the princess. "Forgotten! Irene forgets nothing. See her tears at the remembrance of Ivan." In fact two large pearls were rolling down the child's cheeks, while she continued to fix upon me a glance at once sweet, sad, and questioning. "But who, then, was Ivan?" Madame de Fersen's features darkened, and she answered me, with a sigh: "Ivan was one of our relatives who died quite young,"--she hesitated a moment,--"died a violent and frightful death two years ago. Irene had become so attached to him that I was almost jealous. I can hardly tell you of the incredible grief of this child when she no longer saw Ivan, for whom she asked incessantly. She was then four years old, and so deep was her sorrow that she fell seriously ill, and came nigh unto death. At this time it was that I dedicated her to the wearing of white, and implored God to spare her to me. But what astonishes me exceedingly, is that, for the past two years, you are the only person to whom Irene has said that she would love him." Irene, who had listened to her mother with all attention, now took my hand, and, with an almost inspired air, she raised to heaven her eyes still wet with tears, and said: "Yes, I shall love him like Ivan, for soon he will go up there, like Ivan." "Irene, my child, what are you saying? Ah, pardon her, monsieur!" cried Madame de Fersen, almost with terror, looking at me with an imploring glance. "Were I even to purchase it with the same end as poor Ivan," said I, smiling, "allow me, madame, the enjoyment of so touching an affection."