Ivan’s white face flushed. “No one is sent to Siberia _now_” he said eagerly, “who would not in any other country than ours be far more severely punished. It was the Czarina who exiled my father,” he continued with some excitement--“not my Czar.” “Do not think me unkind or discourteous,” Madame de Talmont said gently, “if I venture to inquire what was the offence laid to his charge. I have a reason.” “I can answer without pain or reluctance,” said Ivan. “My father’s disgrace and banishment, and my mother’s death, which quickly followed, took place in my infancy; and the kind but simple people who cared for me and brought me up could tell me very little. But from that little I have gathered that my father, being in Paris at the outbreak of the Revolution, became involved in the crimes of the Jacobins, rather from youthful thoughtlessness than from any deliberate evil intention.” “_Ah!_” said Madame de Talmont. Something in her tone made Ivan raise himself to look at her. “Madame,” he asked quickly, “did you know my father?” “That is a question I shall be better able to answer if you on your part will tell me--was your mother a Frenchwoman?” “Yes, madame,” said Ivan, looking greatly agitated. “Have you ever heard her name?” “Not her family name, madame. Her Christian name I know--Victoire.” Madame de Talmont wrestled in silence with some emotion, and conquered it. Then taking Ivan’s hand in hers, she said kindly, even with tenderness, “My dear boy, you must accept us as your cousins.” “My cousins!” Ivan repeated. “Ah, madame, how gladly! But I must entreat of you to explain to me my good fortune. It quite bewilders me.” “I can explain very easily. Your mother, Victoire de Talmont, was my husband’s much-loved cousin--nay, his sister rather, for he was early left an orphan, and her father was as a father to him. Her only brother, Louis de Talmont, was as his brother, until that hateful revolutionary madness seized upon him, bringing misery and disunion into the household. It was her brother’s influence made Victoire give her hand to his friend, the fascinating young Russian, Prince Pojarsky. I cannot deny that this was a great sorrow to my husband, for Prince Pojarsky had embraced the same opinions as Louis de Talmont.” “And did you know him, madame?” Ivan asked eagerly. “Have you ever seen him?” “I did not know him well. All this happened before my own marriage. But I have seen him more than once--a fine, brilliant young man, magnificent in dress and bearing, and very handsome. You are like him; yet I think I see in you a stronger resemblance to the features of Victoire.”