No doubt in Mother’s mind were the words Aunt Ella said to her once: “Remember what happened to other Empresses!” Mother may also have thought of the painting of Marie Antoinette and her children by Mme. Vigée-Lebrun, which was given to Mother by the President of France. Was she thinking now of a common misfortune? Or, possibly, she thought of the words of the Emperor Joseph II, brother of Marie, when he prophesied to his pretty sister the coming disaster: “In very truth, I tremble for your happiness; the revolution will be a cruel one and perhaps of your own making.” But it was not the case with my Mother: revolution was of the traitors’ making. I often ask myself, why was Mother so drawn to this unfortunate woman, who in character and education was so different from my Mother? At home in the glass wardrobe, were Olga’s and Tatiana’s christening gowns. They were copies of the dresses of Marie Antoinette’s children. In another case were a few copies of the Queen’s own dresses, made for Mother in Lyons during one of her early visits to France. We were all puzzled by the fascination Marie had for Mother, who was a student of history and had an aversion for its tragic pages. Our departure was scheduled for midnight, August 13th, new style. Before the fateful hour arrived we were served tea. Midnight came but no summons. Nevertheless, shortly after one in the morning, we assembled in the semicircular hall. Our personal luggage was standing at one side. Soon Count Benckendorff came with a message that General Tatishchev had informed him that he was not allowed to come to the palace but would be at the station to meet us. Books and magazines were brought to us. We could not read anything. My thoughts went back to the pages Mlle. Schneider had read to us while we were recovering from our illness, and to the painting on the wall of Marie Antoinette in a large hat, sitting with her children and a white, long-haired dog at her feet. This large, gold-framed painting, approximately six feet high, dominated the room. Below it there was a simple, inlaid console table and on the floor, on either side, stood two tall red French enamel vases. Somehow I had the idea that they had been a gift to the family from Cousin Wilhelm. From the time of the outbreak of the war, I had a strong impulse to break them. Father, who long before had read all the best known books on the French Revolution, asked for those volumes again when the reign of terror swept our country. My older sisters read them, too. Marie and I, because of our weakened eyes, went through only certain parts. No doubt these traitors and the revolutionists had read them also, and followed the same pattern. Kerensky likewise was probably not ignorant of these events. There are so many similarities between the French and the Russian Revolutions.