“I suppose I am writing all this just to make you a sharer in my own long suspense and weary waiting. I thought my turn for a word from my sovereign would never come, there were so many present older than I. Besides, on such occasions his Majesty never is in haste. He speaks to each: the words perhaps are few, but they are so spoken that each feels that his own particular case and circumstances are for the time the sole objects of attention. But _my_ five minutes came at last, and proved enough to crown my long patience with an abundant reward. A kindly question or two about my wound was asked and answered; and then, without further preface, the Emperor spoke to me of my father. He said that after our first interview he had requested General Soltikoff to ascertain whether he yet lived, and that, ‘during our absence,’ the general had succeeded in obtaining full information about him. ‘He will give you the papers to-morrow,’ he added--and paused for a moment. Something in his face told me my father was no more, and almost unawares the words passed my lips, ‘He is dead, sire.’ ‘I wish I could say you are mistaken,’ he answered. ‘All was different from what we thought. He was never sent to Siberia. At his own earnest and impassioned request--the request of a brave man--his punishment was changed to that of compulsory service in the army as a private.[56] “Let me show my sovereign,” said he, “that although the enemy of Louis of France, I am faithful to Catherine of Russia.” Ivan Ivanovitch, he redeemed his word nobly, though not to the Czarina. He was one of the many gallant men whom I led to their death at Austerlitz, on the most unfortunate day of my life.[57] His regiment kept its place until not a man was left unwounded. Will it comfort you to know that he died a hero’s death, and that he died for me?’ “‘What more could I desire for him, or for myself?’ I said. That was nearly all that passed between us. But it was enough. I am comforted concerning my father. “I cannot write or think of aught else just now. My dear unknown father! So unfortunate! So young too--scarce older, when the storm burst upon him, than I am now. What agony he must have suffered! what desolation! Yet he kept his sorely-tried loyalty without a taint; only craving, as his last boon, leave to die for the sovereign who drove him from her presence with insult, and doomed him to ruin and disgrace. Surely his heart was true, whatever baseless, fantastic dreams of liberty and equality may have set his brain on fire. The Czar says he died a hero’s death, and that he died _for him_. Thank God!