The woman was busy folding a blanket. When she finished she piled it on her arm, tossed the pillow on top and lowered her chin on it for a firm grip on her burden. Now she was climbing the ladder, load and all. There was something final in the way she climbed. It suddenly dawned on me that she had spent the many nights close by my side. Satisfied that I was out of danger, she was henceforth going to sleep upstairs. I had not been conscious of her presence; misery had made me deaf and blind. Now that her watchful custody was removed, I became frightened and longed for the nearness I had not been aware of. Without a clock, I had no idea at what time our day started. When the woman appeared, it was morning. The smoky window became a panel of gray after she removed its covering. I always listened for a “Good morning.” But that was all. She never did tell me what I should call her. If I needed her attention, I whispered, “Lady, please.” I did overhear the man call her Iliana or Irina. When she combed my hair, she did it gently. All her services were performed tenderly. I thought I detected a resemblance between her and the man who was the first spokesman. I wished I knew something about these men and the woman. After an early supper she helped me to get dressed again in the same grotesque clothes and took me to the room above. The same men awaited me; the same rhythmical shadow flitted through the crack. Previously the questions had been of a general nature. Now they began to ask me more personal ones. They asked about Madame Vyrubova. Did she influence the Tsarina? Was she intimate with Rasputin? Did she live in the palace? I did not want to answer any of these questions, yet I did not dare to refuse. All the time the shadow continued to pass over the lighted crack of the door. Who could it be? Was there someone writing down my answers? I was terrified. Suddenly I became so exhausted that I thought I would fall from the chair. My interrogator saw the situation and excused me. The woman accompanied me outdoors, and we walked around the house several times. Then I returned to my little hole. Once more I sank into my congenial darkness. The woman climbed the ladder, her touch was as soft as a feather. The trap door opened, then lowered back into place, quietly but firmly. One day she brought me a piece of meat and vegetables. I refused to eat meat. The woman had no longer to bandage my wounds; they had healed sufficiently. Now I felt an itching sensation on my head and the woman was pleased with my progress. “Your hair will cover it nicely,” she said. There in the darkness my hair was growing fast. I was able to braid it. Ahead of me lay the nightly inquisition. Yet each trip into the outdoors made me more independent physically. Once more and many times later I sat in the question room trying to control myself in the face of the curiosity of these two men and the woman. Now my Mother was the subject of their questioning.