That day was the beginning of a new life for Ivan. His versatile, imitative Russian nature stood him in good stead. Ashamed of his ignorance of what Adrian and Leon Wertsch knew so well, and perhaps with the same feelings of emulation towards them as of old towards Michael, he devoted his quick intelligence and his retentive memory to two branches of study,--the French language and the art of reading. The average Russian is a remarkably good linguist, and Ivan was much more than an average Russian. It very soon became unsafe for “_Mousié_” to say anything in his presence which he was not intended to understand; nor was it long before he could read sufficiently well to amuse his leisure with the worthless sentimental romances then, unhappily, popular in Russia. In other ways his education made rapid progress. He soon appreciated the attractions of the French theatre; he learned to like the taste of champagne; and cards and loto were substituted for the homely babshkys of his childhood. Under the tutelage of M. Thomassin--as worthless and unprincipled a Frenchman as ever professed and propagated the doctrines of Voltaire--the Wertsches were growing up into frivolous, dissipated young men of fashion, and open scoffers at what they styled a stupid and antiquated superstition. Their mother, a thoroughly ignorant woman, with a thin veneering of showy accomplishments, was a little horrified when their contempt for things she had been accustomed to revere was manifested in her presence; but she supposed that all must be right which was taught them by a fashionable French “professeur.” At all events, they only did like other people in the _beau monde_, and its opinion was her idol. Once only did Ivan see her really provoked. He often visited his kind old friend Petrovitch, as indeed for every reason he was bound to do. The easiest way of reaching or returning from the merchants’ quarter was by crossing the river, in summer by a ferry-boat, in winter on foot or in a sledge. Once, however, just when the ice was beginning to break, and the passage was difficult and rather unsafe, Ivan stayed with the Petrovitches for dinner, and came home in the evening in a drosky by a longer route. The countess, before his return, had been a little alarmed for his safety, but was much more annoyed when he made his appearance and explained how his day had been spent. “It is well enough to _visit_ people like the Petrovitches,” she said. “But to _eat_ in their house! such a thing is never done in the world--_never_! For Heaven’s sake, Ivan, do not let any one know of it. You would be talked about.” Adrian, who was present, took Ivan’s part. “After all, mother,” he said, “in St. Petersburg his Imperial Majesty has been known to drink tea in the house of a merchant.” “His Imperial Majesty,” replied the countess with solemnity, “had better take care of himself.” “Which,” returned Adrian, “he is abundantly able to do.”