On the 16th also, Alexei got up, though his cold was worse, due to the hot water treatments for his swollen hands and feet which were still partially paralyzed. In the afternoon, we took him into the small garden where he was able to walk a little, but had to be carried down the steps. We all went out except Marie, who remained with Mother who had not been out for several days. While we were in the garden a pigeon flew toward the porch, frantically flapping its wings. Then it flew to the other side of the house, where we were not allowed to walk. Upon our return Mother to our surprise told us that a bird flapped its wings on her bedroom window and she could see only a fluttering shadow of a bird’s wings in the window glass which was painted white. Then she said, “At the coronation we were presented with two birds; and, as you remember, during the Three Hundredth Anniversary a pigeon flew inside the Cathedral when the service was held; and today a bird came into the picture again.” Some time before the tragedy Dr. Botkin was sent by Yurovsky to ask Mother if she wished her sister Ella to come to see her and that, if so, Yurovsky would arrange her transportation. Mother at once wrote to her sister to say that we were looking forward to her arrival. Very late that afternoon, Father and the rest of us were asked by _Goloshchekin and Yurovsky to write letters to our friends and relatives here and abroad to the effect that we were in the far North, in Sweden, and that we were quite happy in our new surroundings_. Olga angrily replied, “If we get there, we will write to our friends from there and not from here.” Dr. Botkin had written such a letter or letters under pressure since he feared for the lives of his children. He said he had written one to Madame Elizabeth Narishkina and one or more to his children hoping they were still in Tobolsk. Evidently those men wanted the world to believe that we escaped at night and were hiding somewhere in the wilderness and that our friends after receiving such letters would be satisfied that we were safe. In this way they wanted to hide their crime from the people. While Father was reading, suddenly he turned to us and said, “It is exactly twenty-seven years this month (July 1918) since I returned from Japan and that is the icon which was presented to me in the Government of Ufa upon my arrival there.” It was from the Government of Ufa that Father’s train was returned a few weeks earlier to Ekaterinburg. Someone commented that it seemed weird that Father suddenly at this time should remember that unpleasant event which took place in Japan, where he almost lost his life. In the evening Yurovsky walked into our sitting room startling us. Jemmy, my little dog, charged at him, snarling. She had never acted like that before. I called her back, but it was too late. Yurovsky grabbed her by the neck and carried her away, saying, “Who brought this dog up here?”