"I'll do anything you say," she answered blushing and lowering her head, "I am ready."

"Lucie," I said, "It is not a question _of that_. You see I cannot put you out on the streets. A good master would not do it to his dog. But, on the other hand they have not yet built the Ritz here."

"I am not asking you to go from your house, Alex. I had for a moment,--when I saw who Syvorotka was--a little ray of sunshine. I see I am mistaken. Could you take me to the depot, then?"

"I shall do nothing of the kind," I answered. "Nobody warned me you might come here. I was not ready. So--please stay here for to-night.

I have a place where I can find an abode, and tomorrow we can decide what to do. There is some frozen milk in the pantry and if I don't return--right where you are sitting in the mattress there is some money. Good night, Lucie."

"Alex, are you really going?" she asked taking me by the arm, "Are you _really_ going out just not to be with me? Is it a pose? Or are you serious? Please don't do it...."

"Good night," I said and went out.

27

A night in a small city of Siberia! One can see only because the snow is white. No moon, no electricity.... Where is my new Peugeot now? Who is driving it now? Where is Anton? Whose chauffer is he now, and is he still a chauffer, or has the wheel of fortune turned and made him Commissary of Arts, or Commissary of Public Health? Or, true to his master, was he hanged defending my automobile? Kismet!...

There were only two blocks to the L.--but the snow was so deep and it was so windy and cold, it seemed to me a good mile, till I reached the house.

It was dark as usual. As usual it seemed dead. But, when I was quite close to it, I heard some movement inside and I detected something in the yard. This something materialized very soon into a couple of evil faces and rifles with fixed bayonets. Inside of the house there were muffled voices. Near the rear gate (I could see it due to the sloping of the lot) three horses and a snow sledge were standing. A few voices were raised in dispute in the barn, swearing a blue streak.

"Arrest"--it was clear. When I was trying to think of something to help,--and what could I think of?--the double pane of the bedroom window was suddenly broken by something heavy thrown from the inside and a desperate piercing voice of Pasha--I immediately knew it was the poor girl--shouted with all of the strength of her lungs: "Help, help!

In Christ's name, help...." The cry was broken off in the middle, muffled by the palm of a hand, and became a mutter of despair and horror: "M-p-p, maa...." Somebody stuffed a white pillow in the hole.

Again all became quiet.

Then the front door suddenly opened and a man jumped out into the street; another,--a short fellow clad in a wild Siberian overcoat,--appeared on the stairs, aimed a Mauser and fired at the man's back. I scarcely had time to sit down behind the fence.

Ff ... ap ... Ff ... ap ...--sounded two dry, sharp shots. The first man took two more steps--and rolled in the snow, feebly groaning from pain. A black trickle of blood swiftly ran along the snow near my knees. The Siberian overcoat looked at his victim and with "you, damned carrion," slammed the door. Again all was dark and silent.

The man was indeed dead when I reached him. He had a package of something wrapped in paper--so I took it,--I thought it might be something belonging to Ls.

All that was pretty bad, and I did not know how to get away,--my position being really a poor one in a strategic sense of the word.

I had to escape without attracting too much attention. When I was thinking over how to do it--a voice called:

"Bist du dort, Swartz?"

"Ja wohl!" I answered as nonchalantly as I could, having covered my mouth with my glove, "soll' ich noch warten?"

"We'll be through in a minute. Wait a while!"

I did not wait. Through wind and snow, crawling like an Indian, I passed the dangerous spot near the gate where I could be seen, then hurried home, almost crying for the poor Ls., and Pasha--such a sweet girl, probably at that moment being nationalized--condemning all and everything and especially the impossibility of helping my unfortunate friends. All was frozen inside of me, due to the cold and this fear of a helpless creature.

When I was about a score of yards from the house--shooting started behind me--just as idiotic as in Petrograd or Moscow: in every direction, bullets cracking the windows, the street lamps, the passers-by,--on this occasion myself,--I got a bad one in the sleeve, right near the elbow.

I did not have to knock at the door as I feared running home: the door flew open, and Lucie dragged me in, closing the door behind me on the lever.

"Oh, I am so glad you came! Silly man! Are you wounded? No? I heard it all--I was so afraid that they had shot you! I am so glad, Alex dear!

Do stay here, I won't be in your way, honest. Please do stay!..."

(_pages missing_)

28

(_Second letter to M. Goroshkin_)

"I must bring to your attention the fact that a certain lady, whom I knew in Petrograd in other days, came here quite unexpectedly, under the name of Lucie de Clive. She was in the plot in June, and at that time was very strongly protected by A.F. K-y, who released her from jail. She is an Englishwoman, but knows Russia well, as in fact, she knows all European countries. She came here the day the L's were killed and Pasha taken away. She made me understand that she is in a new plot to save the Emperor's family. Her task will be to stay here for a while "and make some preparations" and then go farther on.

I must tell you that her arrival here is of great inconvenience to me: in a city like Tumen it became known to the G-ns, and, though the Princess thinks I am nothing much and _her_ morals are not for my class of people, she is a little hypocrite and pulls a long face at me.

I tried my best to avoid having this lady in my house; but the president of the local soviet, who has a great respect for me as Marchenko's protege, allowed me a short stay for the lady; I explained to him that she is my old affinity--"a civil wife." Therefore, he found it a sufficient reason, but did not like it much, and I am afraid his trust in me may diminish.

Now things have turned out in such a manner that I cannot possibly throw the lady out of my home: but what I want you to do is to notify me at once whether you know something about this arrival and whether Lucie is working for the same purposes. I don't trust her much; she feels it, and plays a strange game with me, the part of an enamored woman. This does not interfere with her writing (and receiving) some correspondence. She takes the letters out when I am busy, so I cannot trail her. I'd rather go away from here, leaving her; I would not care much to be obliged to watch her. There are certain ethics which would prevent me from liking to trail this particular lady.

I was greatly surprised when I heard that Mr. Kerensky was living in the Rossia Insurance Company Apartments, Pushkarskaya 59, Flat 10. If so, why this game of the Smolny crowd? Why not take him? The man of whom I wrote you in my last letter states that K-y is now planning to go to Stockholm and that a passport will be given to him by the Smolny Institute. Please communicate that to Marchenko. Schmelin says it is not his business. The ring was taken from K-y. Nothing new in Tobolsk.

The Empress has been sick for the last ten days.

Yours,

Alex. Syv."

29

(_Third letter to M. Goroshkin_)

"As I told you in one of my letters, the actions of some people in Tobolsk are more or less significant.

Father A. Vassiliev has become welcome to the Emperor and has all of his confidence. We tried to warn him of this pope, but I don't think it worked, for they know that Vassiliev received some very important documents from the Emperor, and also his revolver and sword for safekeeping.

At present there is an organization in Tobolsk helping the family with money and food; the Ordovsky-Tanaevskys, the Prince Khovansky's family and the Budischevs. The latter house is on Rojestvensky Street about four blocks from the Mansion. Bishop Hermogen comes often, as well as Bishop Irinarch and some others. None are really good. The Empress is sick--the same old nervousness. The Heir is all right, barring a little accident--he fell down stairs and got a bad bump on his head.

They say that the Bishop received a letter from the Dowager Empress which was brought by a German war prisoner. Others think that this letter was an act "de provocation" and has been fabricated by the Bolsheviki to circulate a bad story about the Bishop.

They speak a great deal about taking the Emperor from here to European Russia and the whole family is scared.

The situation is very precarious: there is a decided tendency on the side of the Bolsheviki to take the family away--some say, to Ekaterinburg, others to Berezov; deputies from Petrograd and Ekaterinburg, arrived in Tobolsk asking the local soviet to give up the family. The members of the "Detachment of Special Destination"

do not allow that, saying that the Family will be given only to the Constituent Assembly and the population is on the side of this detachment. There may be an outbreak. In certain houses there are firearms. The situation would be better if the soldiers from the detachment had been paid; but since last September they have not been, so discontent is growing. Colonel Kobylinsky's behavior seems to be strange.

The Ufa movement is gaining in strength.

Yours,