We had no privacy, not even the privacy of a prison. All the doors of our rooms had been removed before we arrived at the Ipatiev House. At any time of the day or night the guards or the Commandant would stalk into our rooms, without knocking. This occurred about every three hours for their check-up. The stench of liquor that flooded the rooms warned us of their approach. They sat on Alexei’s bed. They drank from our tumblers. They stuffed into their pockets anything that caught their eye. They came in twos or threes. By this time we had kept only our most treasured keepsakes, so whatever they helped themselves to was a real loss to us. But even precious things were worth losing if they would but leave us alone without this constant intrusion. They kept coming in more often, flaunting their authority in our faces, joking at our expense, and toying with the veneer of our composure. By comparison, the first guards at Tobolsk were gentlemen. We could not believe these creatures were soldiers. They seemed too uncouth to have been in any service of the Army. At night their hideous brawlings reached us from their quarters below to fill us with disgust and terror. Dr. Botkin tried to intercede. He went to the Commandant and urged him to see that his men were less rowdy, but they continued to act as before. Father seldom spoke to the Commissars. Anything he needed he wrote down and handed it to his valet Trup to deliver to Yurovsky. In cases of illness, Dr. Botkin took care of us on his own accord. We sisters at home were trained not to be familiar with anyone around us, and always to be reserved. Mother also spoke seldom to her help, except when giving orders; and yet she was very kind to those who were in trouble or in need. Mother was the first one to help them financially. And now when Anna Demidova lost all her belongings Mother promised to replace their losses to all who were in our service. Once when Kharitonov was ill, we sisters undertook the task of preparing the food. One day a burlap sack of potatoes was brought to the kitchen. “Peel them,” said one of the guards. Potatoes! Something so real, so much a part of the earth, to hold in our hands. We fondled each one, breathing in its earthy smell; no perfume like it. We made a game out of paring and when we finished, there was only a small pile of peelings. It was a refreshing task. We assumed some of these would be for our meals, but no potatoes were served to us. We helped on another occasion in the kitchen, baking bread. Kharitonov was appreciative of our help, since he had lately been in poor health, and the task of cooking for so many, commissars and others as well as for us, was too much for him.