Ivan went in, took a seat on a bench beside his new friends, crossed himself, and bowed his head for a moment in prayer, then looked about him. It was now late, and the little room was lighted, somewhat dimly, with candles of an ordinary kind. Fortunately he was placed where he could clearly see the very striking face and figure of the lady whom Adèle pointed out to him with the one whispered word--“Madame.” Her hair was silver, her face worn and haggard, with the look “of one that had travailed sore.” Less than fifty she could not have been--Ivan thought her much more; but hers had been one of those intense and passionate lives which are measured “not by months and years,” but by fears and hopes, by joys and sorrows, perhaps by raptures and despairs. There was fire in her dark eyes, and upon her pale and wasted features an expression at once of dreamy mysticism and of ecstatic ardour. In youth she had been very beautiful, but no mere physical beauty could survive the storms that had swept over her. Yet some better thing had come to her in place of her faded loveliness; so at least they said who saw her when she spoke of that which was God’s special gift and message to her soul--“the love of Christ which passeth knowledge.” It was this secret whispered in her ear that, in spite of many errors and some serious faults, made Julie de Krudener a power for good in her day and generation. She had this treasure in an earthen vessel--in one that was flawed and well-nigh broken; but she had it, and gave of it to others. Though Ivan could read little of this in her face, yet he was greatly struck by its expression. “She ought to be a sibyl or a prophetess,” he thought. The persons on either side of her scarcely attracted his attention at all; they were her son-in-law, the Baron de Berckheim, and a young Swiss pastor, whom Adèle called M. Empaytaz. Just as the clock in an adjoining apartment began to strike, the door opened once more, and an officer of tall and commanding aspect entered the room. He went quietly to what was evidently his accustomed place, close to one of the lights, laid a Bible which he had brought with him on the table, and sat down. Ivan found it as much as he could do to suppress a cry of amazement--for it was the Czar. But he held his peace, and neither by look nor sign betrayed what he felt. A prayer was offered, in which Ivan was far too bewildered to join; he scarcely even observed that it was unlike any prayer he had ever heard before, being extempore. Then the young pastor opened his Bible, read a passage, and began to expound it. But Ivan heard little; for he could not withdraw his eyes from the Czar, who was listening intently to every word, and who found and read every passage of Scripture referred to, making constant use of the little eye-glass he always carried in his sleeve.[61]