One of my most vivid childhood experiences, when I was nearly four years old, happened on a Sunday when we sisters as usual were dressed in white, ready to go to church. We heard excited voices and saw Mother running upstairs. This frightened us and we all ran after her to the nursery. There I saw a spot of blood on little Alexei’s shirt. While nurse was bathing him he sneezed, thereby causing a discharge of blood from his navel. Though I was very young, I could easily tell from the faces about me that something was wrong. At the time just what it was I could not understand. A few years later, when I was about seven, we three younger children were playing in the garden when our brother fell over his cart. Soon a large blue swelling developed around his ankle. When Mother came she fainted at the sight, knowing it was the dreaded haemophilia that might kill her son. As a result, the lives of Father and Mother were noticeably saddened. Father searched in every country for a specialist, but without success. We were continually reminded that we must be careful of Alexei. He was so easily hurt. The toys I was in the habit of bringing to him were removed before they reached his hands. Once he fell on his head and his face swelled so terribly that his eyes were almost closed and his whole face became a purplish yellow, a dreadful sight. At one moment he would be perfectly well; an hour later, he would lie in bed seriously ill. We were instructed not to speak to anybody about it, but we innocently gave away the secret of his illness to some members of our staff who had led us into believing that they already knew all about it. Mother was constantly at his side, never trusting any one else to care for him. Each time, when he recovered, Mother was entirely exhausted, so much so that she was unable to leave her room for days at a time. When Alexei was well and his normal chubby self, it was hard to remember that we had to be careful when we played with him. I often felt belligerent when he teased me saying, “Go away, you’re playing just like a little girl; you don’t know this game.” I maintained my composure pretty well and occasionally retaliated by refusing to play with him, but he bitterly complained of such treatment. Suddenly he would be well again at which time it was difficult to restrain him from getting too bold or playing games that might end in disaster.