“My life witnesses to that,” returned Henri, almost losing his self-control. After a pause he resumed: “Before I left Tobolsk, I met an Englishman who had seen his physician, Dr. Wylie, and heard from his lips a full account of every particular. He told me all. And this, indeed, is what has brought me here.” “It was so good of you to come,” said Clémence tearfully. “He was looking ill when we parted,” Ivan said. “Ill and worn. But he was so strong, and only forty-three. I never dreamed of death for him--never once.” Henri answered sadly: “During the years that passed since then, those who loved him have thought of it often--have sometimes almost _wished_”--but his voice failed; to end _that_ sentence was beyond his power. After a pause he resumed: “Repeated attacks of erysipelas wore out his strength,--especially one, desperately severe, two years before the end. He never fully recovered from its effects. His nerves were shattered; sleep forsook him; he could not bear light or noise, even the taper which burned all day on his table to seal his never-ending despatches, had to be carefully shaded. Still he toiled on, rising sometimes as early as half-past three, and allowing himself no time for rest, except such as he could snatch in his rapid journeys, often over rough roads and in bad vehicles. One who had a post in his household,[82] said to my English friend, ‘After two or three days passed in a carriage the uncrowned traveller gives himself up to rest and refreshment, but the Emperor relaxes himself from one fatigue by another. A regiment is reviewed, government officials received, military colonies visited, an establishment created, plans examined, and so forth. Sleep and food have great trouble to glide into the leisure of so busy a life.’ Yet, after all, it is not toil which usually strikes at the roots of a strong man’s life. Nor is bodily suffering the hardest thing to endure. ‘The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can bear?’ Again to use words other than my own, and all too sadly true, ‘He saw his noble desires abandoned to ridicule, and those to whom he devoted himself rewarded him with ingratitude; until at last the silent but unceasing struggle he had to maintain against those who pretended to second him only to paralyze his action, and to enter into his views only that they might the better betray them, filled his days with bitterness, and eventually shortened their course.’”[83] “Ah!” said Ivan with a shuddering sigh that was more than half a groan of pain.