Distressed and restless we sat in this room, wondering if the same misfortune that befell the court of Louis XVI was awaiting us. In one instance to stimulate the revolution, the weapon was the jewel; in the other, Rasputin. We wondered whether the other courts of Europe and particularly our own royal relatives were making any efforts to save Russia and ourselves. At four in the morning we had tea again. As daybreak was pouring through the windows and the lights were turned off, breakfast was ordered for 5:30. By mistake or by force of habit, the table for us five children and the governess was set upstairs. This caused a furious consternation and confusion around the watchful men. We were not allowed to go upstairs and we did not care to return there again. Finally an excited officer came running and announced to Count Benckendorff that he had talked with Kerensky who was on his way to us. The room became full of people who waited interminably to say good-bye to us and to the staff who were to go with us. The sentries filled the doorways, forming a long line on both sides to the waiting motors. We strained our swollen eyes in the dawning light to see all we could as the cars sped down the courtyard and through the garden’s side entrance. Near the fence there were some people who had been waiting all night to have a glimpse of their Emperor for the last time. They ran toward this gate but were repulsed by the sentry. We saw the church with its blue dome, the double eagle and the golden cross, the little lake, the palace, the park, all for the last time. The iron gates, our prison gates, swung open and closed after us. Our hearts closed with them. There were no bells ringing as we left our home, no cheering of the regiments of Cossacks who used to pass in brilliant parade before the palace. No convoy followed the Emperor on horses, dressed in tall caps and red and blue coats; and no yellow flag fluttered on the car. No flag caught the morning breeze on the roof top; it had been removed long ago, even though Father and we were still there. The cars moved like a funeral procession. Escorted by a detachment of cavalry, we arrived at the Alexander station. The air was fresh. The golden sun flooded the sky. One hoped that he could hear the words: “I shall light your way wherever you go.” What a change in the appearance of this charming and beautiful village had taken place! The immaculate asphalt roads of Tsarskoe Selo I used to drive over only five months ago were no longer the same. I could see the wound the new leaders had inflicted upon this peaceful village. It was indeed a depressing and fearful sight.