One day when I was sitting up in bed, I noticed on the table next to me a brown lump. It looked like a section of a dried apple. I picked it up; it gave me a feeling of horror, and I quickly dropped it on the army blanket covering my bed. As I looked at it closely, I saw a familiar design. I unfolded a small portion of it, and recognized the edge as the handkerchief that was given me by Grandmother, who also gave one to each of my sisters. I could not imagine where this handkerchief had come from. I remembered that when our rooms had last been searched, I had picked it up from the floor and had placed it on a small table in Mother’s room. I do not remember taking it when we rushed to get dressed that final night, nor did I intend to use this fine lace handmade keepsake. I must have picked it up absent-mindedly. According to the woman, when I was brought into the dugout that fateful morning, the handkerchief was clutched tightly in my hand. I had brought it with me when we left Tsarskoe Selo to Tobolsk and then to Ekaterinburg. I intend to place it in the museum which I plan to establish. Mother had beautiful laces and had brought a few small pieces with her to Tobolsk. Fearing they might be mishandled, these valuable laces were to be divided among us children. The woman cared for me quite frequently, although I had no clock to mark the passing hours, nor was there any sunshine by which to conjecture the time of day. During my convalescence she let me wear a white cotton jacket which had starched pleating around the neck and down the front. This bed jacket was far too large for me, but it was her best. The sheets on my bed were of a coarse cotton; so was the pillow case. The latter was edged with a peasant lace and was buttoned together. Over the sheet, she had placed a warm army blanket. The room was dark, day hardly distinguishable from night. The little window high up near the ceiling was covered on the outside with hay, as I later discovered. A little light did penetrate into this dugout, but at night she hung a dark cloth over this pane. My eyes were sore from the lighted candle and I put it out except when she cared for me. I had no book or magazine or newspaper. No calendar to mark the time of year or the day of the month. I had no idea whether it was summer or fall. My room was always cool and damp and the days long. As I lay in this dark mustiness, I had time to think about everything that took place during my seventeen years with my dear family. There were so many sudden changes in the political hysteria, that I wondered if in my thoughts I was confused! It was unbelievable that actually such developments really had taken place. One day I asked the woman, whether all the turmoil was a reality or just a nightmare! “No!” she replied, “it is true.”