From Pskov Father’s train went back to Mogilev to enable him to take leave of his beloved Army. Here once more General Count Keller came to see Father. He kissed his hand, saying; “Your Majesty, I would rather be dead, before I would serve any other government.” Later, I heard, he shot himself or was shot. In Mogilev, General Alexeiev, Father’s trusted friend, now made known that Father was a prisoner. Present were a number of generals and the committee of the newly formed government, and several grand dukes, including Boris Vladimirovich, Cyril’s brother, who wanted to see Father, but General Voyeykov said that the Emperor could not see him. Soon after Father’s farewell speech to the Army, the General Staff took the loyalty pledge to the Provisional Government, which then ordered that Father’s initials be removed from their epaulets, but these men refused to remove them, saying that they would kill the traitors before they would do such a thing. And Father said, “Now, it is too late.” Prince Dolgorukov later related to us that Father’s tears were streaming down his face and that he turned away from the window of his study which was facing the parade ground. He could not see this painful performance inflicted upon his beloved Army. Before he left G.H.Q., he received the news that Granny was on her way to Mogilev. He dreaded a meeting with her, as she usually distressed him so much that he found her harder to handle than all of his ministers put together. He saw her on the train; she blessed him and they parted forever. Later after several days aboard the train, Father finally reached Tsarskoe Selo, on March 9/22, 1917, at 11:30 A.M. Here at the pavilion (station) many of Father’s lifelong friends his trusted officers and his favorite aides-de-camp, who had come on the train with him, departed in an effort to save their own lives. It was said, though no one ever will know whether this really was true, that on the train that same morning before they reached Tsarskoe Selo they were told that if they stayed with Father they would be shot. “They deserted me in my saddest hour,” said Father. Among those of whom he spoke were Cyril Narishkin, chief of his mobile secretariat, the son of our dear Zizi Narishkina, the Mistress of the Robes; and also Count Grabbe, an A.D.C., whom we had known since our childhood. I remember when he accompanied us sisters on long walks on the shore in the Crimea and the time when I, in mischievous play, poured sand down his neck. Others who deserted Father were a Duke of Leuchtenberg and our friend A.D.C. Mordvinov whose daughter I knew and liked, and Sablin, whom we children loved like one of our own, once a lieutenant on the “Standard.” All of them had been close associates and friends. Captain Drenteln, a most beloved friend and a member of a battalion of Father’s own Preobrazhensky regiment, also disappeared.