He said his name was Alexander, that he was an officer during the war. He had received the St. George’s Cross for his distinguished service in the Russian Army. He had also been decorated with the medal of St. Vladimir, 3rd class, usually given to commandants of large units. He knew my Father’s mother, and on one occasion had met us children at G.H.Q. when he had come to see Father. During the war he was wounded in the abdomen and was nursed at the hospital in Kiev or Rovno where he had met my Aunt Olga. One evening he talked of my Father, saying His Majesty was kind, really too kind. He was so patient and understanding through his banishment. Only Christ could understand his suffering. Their Majesties suffered a long time. He bent his head and tears rolled down his cheeks. “It is all finished for all of us and for Russia.” I remembered my Father’s tears on that final night of July 16th-17th after his talk with Yurovsky. My host and I wept together. I breathed a prayer of gratitude to God for such a sympathetic and good friend. We had many talks together, but we did not touch on the subject so delicate to both of us. For the present neither of us felt equal to it. I wanted to hear of my rescue, yet again I did not, because of my family. He avoided the subject, fearing the effect the truth might have on me. We did talk of my life beneath the house. I told him of the excellent care the woman had given me, and said I was frightened by the various questions the men asked me. “They questioned you?”, he said. “What about?” “About my family, the imprisonment,” I answered. He was surprised at this news. “Do you think they knew who you were?” “Yes.” I said, “They never came out with it, but, judging from their questions, I suspected they had guessed.” “Then we must leave immediately,” he said. “There will be trouble.” He seemed agitated and called Marushka to get things ready. It was the third evening I had been with my host. Now we must cut short the week of delay we had both looked forward to. On the fourth day, long before dawn, my host and I took to the road. It was early September, by the Russian calendar. I became aware of the date from a calendar hung in Marushka’s room. She used the previous year’s calendar, having changed the dates on it. Marushka, weeping as she did so often because of the loss of her husband, saw us to the door. We said a quick good-bye, and the little dog stood puzzled. It was hard to shut the door in the face of my little friend.