“_That_ will be needless,” Clémence answered. “To my mother Henri will be as a sick child who needs a fourfold share of tenderness. I know her well. Fondly as she clung to him before, he will be closer than ever to her now.--One thing is certain, Ivan. We can no longer hope for a visit from her next summer. Until Henri’s education as an architect is finished, no power on earth will move her from his side. Our only hope is that hereafter, through the kindness of the Emperor, some work may be found for him in this country.” “It _shall_ be found,” said Ivan, in his bright, confident way. “Here, at least, religious differences create no prejudice. A man may profess what creed he pleases, so that he does not outrage public order, or make proselytes from the national Church. We Russians are very tolerant.” “Is not toleration sometimes only indifference under a mask?” asked Clémence. “Ah, when will men learn the secret of holding truth dearer than life, and yet being gentle and patient with those who do not see it through their eyes?” “Some secrets are only learned in ‘the secret place of the Most High,’” Ivan answered softly. Neither he nor Clémence was at all aware that they themselves were slipping unconsciously from the moorings of their own ancestral creeds, and that their study of the Scriptures was bringing them nearer day by day to the present standpoint of Henri. Not long after this sorrow, joy came to the household. When the first days of the short Russian summer smiled upon Nicolofsky, a little guest was sent to the old castle. Very proud was Ivan of his first-born child; and to Clémence it seemed as if no one since the beginning of the world had ever been so happy as she. It was agreed that the babe should bear the name of Madame de Talmont; so a little “Rose” budded soft and fair amidst the snows of Russia, giving promise of one day unfolding its petals in full beauty and fragrance. CHAPTER XXXVIII. A ROSEBUD. “Mais elle etait de ce monde où les meilleures choses Ont le pire destin; Et Rose elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses, L’espèce d’un printemps.”