“If,” said Madame de Talmont, “there was any drawback to our enjoyment to-day, it was the difficulty we found in recognizing the great personages we wished to see amidst all the brilliant confusion. We needed our Chevalier of Malta by our side to point them out to us.” “He would willingly have been there, madame,” said Ivan bowing. “But to-morrow you will find it easier to distinguish them. At the grand religious ceremony all will be present. You will see the royal personages assembled in the tent where they are to hear the service.” “Ah,” said Stéphanie, “that will be delightful! I am longing to see the great English Duke Vellington, who conquered General Buonaparte,--or the ex-Emperor, as one may say,” she added considerately, with a sly glance at Emile. Their expectations were not disappointed. The solemn pageant of the following day was graced by a glittering galaxy of royal stars, upon which no eye could rest without emotion. Beside Alexander stood the wayward, ungainly Constantine, unlike him in all but brotherly love; and next to him, the young Grand Dukes, Nicholas and Michael. The King of Prussia was there, with his two sons,--one of them destined to wear hereafter an imperial diadem; the Emperor of Austria, with some members of his family; and, most admired of all perhaps, little Stéphanie’s hero, the Iron Duke. But the sense of these great earthly presences passed away and was forgotten in the solemn awe of the scene that followed. “An immense army of conquerors” all at the same instant fell on their knees in prayer and thanksgiving. Each regiment, led by its own chaplain, moved in harmony with the rest. Magnificent vestments, fragrant incense, and the most exquisite vocal music contributed their charms; until, to those who witnessed it, it seemed as if this worship scarcely belonged to earth. After the breathless, spell-bound silence that followed the last chanted psalm of praise, Clémence faltered tearfully, “I think it is like that perfect worship in the courts above, where the great multitude, whom no man can number, fall on their faces before the Throne.” “Ah, sister mine!” said Henri with a sigh, “there is no perfect worship here. And this,--beautiful as it is, is far indeed from perfect. I doubt even whether it is quite in accordance with what we know of the will of God. But,” he added softly, “‘the good Lord pardon every one that prepareth his heart to seek the Lord God of his fathers, though he be not cleansed according to the purification of the sanctuary.’”