At meal time these wretched guards monopolized the conversation with all kinds of jokes. Their table manners were atrocious and their appetites voracious. One of the guards leaned against Dr. Botkin to light his cigarette from the candle which stood in the center of the table. His sleeve got into the food, and I without a thought gave him my napkin. The man actually looked ashamed. But as time wore on, we thought we could notice an improvement in the attitude of the guards. Some became tolerant and a few were even friendly. During one of our walks in the garden one of these men spoke so that Father could hear him say, “How cruel and senseless to hold and abuse an innocent man.” This guard suddenly disappeared, as did others. Every day there were new arrivals to replace those who were being sent away, for showing sympathy for us, which no doubt worried Yurovsky. At night we tried to create a homelike atmosphere by lighting candles on the table. These nourished our souls, even if the food did not nourish our bodies. But we were told to burn one candle at a time, or one kerosene lamp. So for a long time we did burn only one candle. Often we were compelled to sit in the dark or go to bed early. Electricity was off most of the time. There were promises that it would be fixed tomorrow, but tomorrow never came and we never saw electric lights again. Among our household dishes, Kharitonov had a box of gold candles. When the men searched the kitchen they became suspicious and melted some of the candles but found nothing. Yurovsky had an office in the house. This consisted of an impressive desk and community bed covered with a military blanket, on which he and others took turns resting their troubled heads. The room, dirty and filled with cigarette butts, became a human pigsty. A samovar graced a table, many glasses of tea were consumed. A German newspaper rested majestically by the samovar. There was also a pointed knife with a black horn handle, a special culinary tool with which Yurovsky had proudly speared his cutlet at the supper table and expertly carried it straight into his mouth, profusely decorated with a curly, bushy black beard and mustache. In the corners of his protruding mouth there was an accumulation of saliva which never experienced a lonely hour. A dish with a mound of fresh butter was replaced as soon as it was finished. We long ago had forgotten the taste of butter. Since his last cold, the doctor had prescribed this diet for Yurovsky’s weak chest. This brute even looked for sympathy. The table was covered with an elegant damask table cloth with a woven double eagle and a crown in the center. We also recognized Prince Dolgorukov’s handkerchiefs, presumably taken away from him during his arrest. His coat of arms displayed a hand holding an arrow. Dolgorukov means “long arm.”