Three very happy weeks followed; then Ivan’s marching orders came, and he set his face towards his own country, not without sorrow, but with the hope of a glad return at no distant day to claim the treasure left behind him. CHAPTER XXXI. LEAVES FROM LETTERS. “Umile in tanta gloria.”--PETRARCH. The bright spring-tide had ripened into a yet brighter summer, when one day Clémence entered the parlour where the two elder ladies sat at work. Her cheeks were glowing, and she held in her hand several closely-written sheets of paper. “Dear aunt and dear mother,” she said, “I thought you would like me to read for you part of the letter from--St. Petersburg.” “Yes, dear child,” answered Madame de Talmont tenderly. “I am sorry Henri is not here. He was so anxious about it.” Henri had gone to Brie, that he might bring to the sorrowing family of his “true comrade,” Mathieu Féron, what comfort he could--at least the mournful comfort of certainty. Madame de Salgues motioned Clémence to a footstool near her. “We shall be glad to hear of M. Pojarsky,” she said kindly, but as if the kindness was not quite without an effort. From the first sheet Clémence read scarcely anything. “He says that his journey has been prosperous,” she explained in general terms, “but that he feels a little solitary without--without _us all_.” It must be owned that this was a very tame and inadequate rendering of the eloquent original, which she kept to herself. At length she began to read: “‘You will remember our last expedition to Paris on the day of the king’s triumphal entry, and Henri’s pleased surprise when he found how completely the Czar kept himself and his Russians out of sight, only mingling incognito with the crowd of spectators, that none might say of the son of St. Louis, “Foreign bayonets have brought him back to his capital.” You said to me then, “Think what a welcome they will give him in St. Petersburg! That will be a triumph to throw this one completely into the shade!” And Henri added, “Would that I could see it! But you must tell us all about it when you write.” I must--so far as I can; but it would be impossible to paint the rapture of enthusiasm, of loyalty, of gratitude with which his return was awaited. Think of it! Russia not only delivered from her enemies, but set upon a pinnacle of glory she had never known before. In less than two short years, the invader driven back from our capital to his own, stripped of the power he had misused, and hurled from the throne he had disgraced. France conquered, rescued, forgiven.’” “If there is much more about the conquest of France, you may pass it over,” said Madame de Salgues rather tartly. “Of course, M. Pojarsky writes as a Russian.”