Through Russian Snows (38 page)

Julian was instructed in the Russian words to reply if asked by any of
the postmasters whether he was the Ivan Meriloff mentioned in the
passport, and, on the day after the return of the priest, they started
in a sledge filled with hay and covered with sheep-skins.

Julian with Stephanie were nestled up in the hay at one end of the
sledge, the two Russians at the other. On reaching Borizow they stopped
at the post-house, and on producing the
podorojna
were told that the
carriage and horses would be ready in half an hour. They had brought a
considerable amount of provisions with them, and now laid in a stock of
such articles as could not be procured in the villages. When the
post-carriage came round, a large proportion of the hay in the sledge
was transferred to it, together with the sheep-skins. There was no
luggage, and four horses were deemed sufficient. The wheels had, of
course, been taken off the vehicle, and it was placed on runners. The
driver climbed up to his seat, cracked his whip furiously, and the
horses started at a gallop. The motion was swift and pleasant, indeed
travelling in Russia is much more agreeable in winter than in summer,
for the roads, which in summer are often detestable, are in winter as
smooth as glass, over which the sledge glides with a scarce perceptible
movement, and the journeys are performed much more rapidly than in
summer.

The distance between the post-houses varied considerably, being
sometimes only nine miles apart, sometimes as many as twenty, but they
were generally performed at a gallop, the priest, at Julian's
suggestion, always giving somewhat more than the usual drink-money to
the driver, and in five days from the time of their leaving Borizow they
arrived at St. Petersburg, halting only for a few hours each night at
post-houses. They had no difficulty in ascertaining where the Woronski
palace was situated, and, taking a
droski
, drove there at once.
Stephanie clapped her hands as she saw it.

"You ought to have put on your cloak, Julian, and to have packed me up
under it as you used to carry me, and to take me in like that."

"I am afraid that grand-looking personage at the door would not have let
me in. As it is, he is looking at us with the greatest contempt."

"That is Peter," the child said. "Peter, Peter, what are you standing
staring for? Why don't you come and help me down as usual?"

The porter, a huge man with a great beard, and wearing a fur cap and a
long fur-trimmed pelisse, almost staggered back as the child spoke. He
had, as Julian said, been regarding the
droski
and its load with an
air of supreme contempt, and had been about to demand angrily why it
ventured to drive up into the courtyard of the palace. He stood
immovable until Stephanie threw back her sheep-skin hood, then, with a
loud cry, he sprang down the steps, dashed his fur cap to the ground,
threw himself on his knees, and taking the child's hand in his, pressed
it to his forehead. The tears streamed down his cheeks, as he sobbed
out, "My little mistress, my little mistress! and you have come back
again to be the light of our hearts—oh, what a joyful day is this!"

"Thank you, Peter. Now, please lift me down. I am quite well. Are papa
and mamma well?"

"The gracious countess is not well, little mistress, but when she knows
that you are back, she will soon regain her health. His excellency, your
father, is not ill, but he is sorely troubled. He has been away for a
fortnight searching for news of you, and returned but last week. I don't
know what his news was, but it was bad, for the countess has been worse
since he returned."

"This gentleman has told me, Peter, that I must not run in to see them
without their being told first that I am safe, and that you had better
fetch Papa Serge. This is the English gentleman, Peter, who saved my
life when I was almost dead with cold, and carried me for days and days
under his cloak, and kept me warm close to him when we lay down in the
snow at night."

Again the Russian fell on his knees, and seizing Julian's hand, put it
to his forehead. Then he jumped up, "Why am I keeping you out in the
cold?" he said. "Come in, little mistress, and I will send to fetch the
papa."

"Cover up your head, Stephanie," Julian said as, holding his hand
tightly, they entered the hall together. "If others were to see you the
news would run through the house like wildfire, and it would come to
your mother's ears before it had been broken to her. Tell Peter to take
us into a quiet room, and not to inform the man he sends to the priest
that you are here."

Followed by the village priest and the peasant they entered a room
fitted as a library.

"It is here papa writes his letters," Stephanie said, throwing back her
hood again and taking off her cloak; "isn't it nice and warm?"

Coming in from the temperature of some forty degrees below freezing, it
was to Julian most uncomfortably warm. It was some four or five minutes
before the door opened, and Papa Serge, the family chaplain, entered
with a somewhat bewildered face, for he had been almost forcibly dragged
down by Peter, who had refused to give any explanation for the urgency
of his demand that he should accompany him instantly to the count's
study. When his eyes fell on Stephanie, who had started up as he
entered, he gave a cry of joy. A moment later she sprang into his arms.

"Dear, dear, Papa Serge!" she said, as she kissed his withered cheeks
warmly. "Oh I do love to be home again, though I have been very happy,
and everyone has been very kind to me. Now, you mustn't stay here,
because I want to see papa and mamma; and this gentleman says—he is my
great friend, you know, and I call him Nurse Julian—that you must go
and tell them first that I have come, and that you must tell them very
gently, so that it won't upset poor mamma."

"Tell him, Stephanie, that he had better say at first only that someone
has just come with the news that you are quite safe, and that you will
be here soon, and then after a little while, he had better call your
father out and tell him the truth. By the way, ask if they are together
now."

The child put the question.

"No, the countess is in bed and the count is walking up and down the
great drawing-room. He does it for hours at a time."

"In that case, Stephanie, tell Serge to speak first to your father, and
to bring him down here to you. He will break it to your mother better
than anyone else would do."

The priest was too deeply moved to speak, but upon Stephanie translating
what Julian had said, put her down and left the room. As soon as he had
done so the priest who had travelled with them, and who, with his
companion, had been standing in an attitude of respect while Stephanie
was speaking, said to her:

"Little countess, we will go out into the hall and wait there. It were
better that his excellency, your father, should meet you here alone."

"He would not mind," Stephanie said, "but if you think that you had
better go, please do."

The two peasants left the room somewhat hastily. They had been
absolutely awed at the splendour of the house, which vastly surpassed
anything they had ever imagined, and were glad to make an excuse to
leave the room and so avoid seeing the count until his daughter had
explained the reason of their presence there. Julian guessed their
reason for leaving and was about to follow them when Stephanie took him
by the hand.

"No," she said, "you are not to go, Julian. It is you who saved my life,
and it is you who must give me back to papa." A few minutes elapsed,
then the door was suddenly thrown open and the count ran in.

"My Stephanie! my little Stephanie!" he cried, as he caught her up. "Oh,
my little girl! we never thought to see you again—it seems a miracle
from heaven. Do not cry, darling," he said presently, as she lay sobbing
with her head on his shoulder. "It is all over now, and you will come to
think of it in time as a bad dream."

"Not a
very
bad one, papa. It has been funny and strange, but not bad.
Oh, and I meant this gentleman—he is an English gentleman, papa—to
have put me into your arms, only somehow I forgot all about it when you
came in. I call him Nurse Julian, papa, because he has been my nurse. He
has carried me for days and days on his back under his warm cloak, and I
have slept curled up in his arms; and sometimes there were battles. Oh,
such a noise they made! When it was a big battle he stowed me away in a
waggon, but sometimes when it was a small one, and he had not time to
take me to the waggon, he carried me on his back, and I used to jump at
first when he fired his gun, but I soon got accustomed to it, and he
always got me plenty of food, though it was not very nice. But he didn't
often get enough, and he became very thin and pale, and then I used
sometimes to run along by his side for a bit, and I only let him carry
me when I was very tired, and at last we were in a little hut by
ourselves, and some peasants came. They looked very wicked at first, but
I told them who I was, and that you would give them money if they
brought me back to you, and so we went to their village and stayed
there, and it was warm and nice, and there was plenty of food, and dear
Julian got strong again, and then they brought us here in a
post-carriage, and two of them came with me. They are out in the hall
now."

The count set his little daughter down, and coming up to Julian threw
his arms round his neck and kissed him in Russian fashion. "My
benefactor!" he exclaimed, "I don't understand all that Stephanie has
told me, but it is enough that you saved her life, and that you nursed
her with the tenderness of a mother, and have restored her to us as one
from the grave. Never can I fully express my thanks or prove my
gratitude to you, but now you will, I trust, excuse me. I am burning to
carry the news of our dear one's return to her mother, whose condition
is giving us grave anxiety. She is far too weak to stand any sudden
shock, and I will merely tell her now that news has come that a little
girl whose description corresponds with that of Stephanie has been found
and is on her way here, and may arrive very shortly. More than that I
shall not venture upon to-day, unless, indeed, I find that the
excitement and suspense is likely to be even more injurious to her than
the state of dull despair in which she now lies. If I see that it is so
I must go on, little by little, till she guesses the truth. Now,
Stephanie, you had better come up to your own room. Of course, your
friend will come with you," he added with a smile as Stephanie took
Julian's hand. "But you had better wait three or four minutes so that I
may give strict orders to the household that everything is to be kept
perfectly quiet, and that not a sound is to be heard in the house. There
will be time enough for rejoicings afterwards."

The count, who was a handsome man some thirty years old, now left the
room. He paused in the hall for a minute, shook the priest and his
companion warmly by the hand, and assured them that they should be
handsomely rewarded for the kindness they had shown to his daughter,
and then after speaking to Peter he ran lightly upstairs to his wife's
room. Stephanie waited for about five minutes and then said:

"I should think that papa has had time to give the orders. Now, Julian,
shall we go?"

"Yes, dear, I think we might do so."

On going out into the hall a singular spectacle presented itself. The
grand staircase was lined on each side with kneeling men and women.
There was a sound of suppressed sobbing, and a low murmur was heard as
Stephanie appeared.

"Go first, Stephanie dear," Julian said in a low voice; "they want to
kiss your hands."

Stephanie showed no shyness, for, stopping on each step, she held out
her hands to the kneeling figures, who murmured prayers and blessings.
As they kissed them, she said softly to each, "Thank you very much, but
I must not talk now. This gentleman is my friend. It is he who saved my
life, and nursed me, and carried me. You must all love him for my sake,"
whereupon, as Julian followed her, he met with a reception similar to
that given to their young mistress. He was glad when at last they
reached the top of the stairs and Stephanie led the way into her own
room, which was a sort of glorified nursery. Here two or three maids
were laying a table, and as the door closed behind him they crowded
round her and by turns kissed and hugged her. Then an old woman, who had
sat apart until the girls had had their turn, came forward. She placed
her hands solemnly on the child's head:

"May the great Father bless you, my child. I have seen many glad days
since I entered the service of your house sixty years ago. I was present
at your grandfather's wedding, and your father's, but never was there so
bright and happy a day as this, which but half an hour ago was so dark
and sad. It was but three days ago that the whole household went into
mourning for you, for the news your father brought home seemed to show
that all hope was at an end. In five minutes all this has changed. You
see the maids have got on their festive dresses, and I will warrant me
they never changed their things so rapidly before. Now we have but to
get your beloved mother strong again, which, please God, will not be
long, and then this will be the happiest house in all Russia."

"This is my nurse, my new nurse, Elizabeth. His name is Julian, and he
is an English gentleman, as you will see better when he gets some nice
clothes on. He has carried me days and days across the snow, and kept me
warm by night and day, and done everything for me. He doesn't speak
Russian, but he can speak French, and so, of course, we got on very
nicely; and I have been in battles, Elizabeth, think of that! and I was
not afraid a bit, and I was quite happy all the time, only, of course, I
am very, very glad to get home again."