“There was a moment of deadly silence after Bergasse had regained his seat. Madame de Krudener sat motionless, staring with fixed, unmeaning gaze upon the vacant space before her. The Emperor Alexander stood in passive expectation, not a muscle of his features disturbed, while the King of Prussia, who at that time never left his side and never turned his gaze from the autocratical countenance, looked at it now with more intent and searching earnestness. Presently the seeress started from her dream, and slowly arose from the divan where she had been reclining. She waved her arm aloft, while yet her fixed gaze wavered not, and moved a step or two forward. Nothing could exceed the grandeur of her appearance at that moment. The long robe in which she was enveloped, drooped in graceful folds about her person, and the loose sleeve fell back from the extended arm, and displayed its rounded form and snowy whiteness with most bewitching effect. She spoke—her voice was deep and solemn, and its accents fell with slow and measured cadence on the ear. “‘Let us pray,’ said she; then paused; while I could hear from the rooms beyond, and which I had traversed on my entrance, that peculiar agitation and bustle which precedes the change of position in churches. ‘Let us pray; all sinners that ye are, sink upon your knees, and beg forgiveness from the God of heaven!’ exclaimed she, in a louder tone; and in a moment, while yet she stood with arms uplifted, and with her head thrown back, every person present, from Alexander, the autocrat of all the Russias, to the very waiters who had been handing the refreshments to the company, sank down upon their knees, and bowed their foreheads to the very ground! She herself knelt not, but remained standing, while she poured forth a prayer, spoken in earnest and burning language; words of which I have not been able to recall a syllable to memory, so absorbed was I in contemplation of all that was passing. I verily believe that of all that multitude—for I think there must have been at least five hundred persons present—there was not a soul save myself who had dared to remain seated; and with me it was neither mockery nor bravado which had caused me to disobey the injunction, but at the moment I was so taken by surprise, so absorbed with the novelty of the scene, that I was scarcely conscious of the impropriety of which I was guilty. To speak truth, I was busy comparing the circumstances now passing before me, with those under which I had last beheld Madame de Krudener; Garat, the opera singer, and Bernardin de St. Pierre were then her supporters. Sounds of mirth and festivity, the light _fiorituri_ of Garat, the mildly-caustic declamation of Bernardin, had given place to the solemn tones of the prophetess, the language of love and gallantry to the language of prayer.