Secret hiding places became an obsession with me, especially tiny ones so snug I had to squeeze into them. There I often stayed gloating over the bewilderment and eventual rage of searchers. Once when I was quite young I slipped out of the nursery onto the balcony. It was late in the afternoon and the long shadows fascinated me, so that I must have remained there quietly for a long time. Suddenly I heard excited voices and I decided to keep perfectly quiet. At dusk, in the uncertain light, I flattened myself against the shadowed wall. The sentries were spreading over the park; the worry was growing. I was thrilled when I knew they were searching for me, but I was a little frightened of the gathering darkness. I ran quickly down the stairs and to the main floor. Mother was talking to one of the officers when her eyes suddenly fell on me. “Anastasia,” she cried, “where have you been?” “Right on the balcony and no one could find me,” I answered with all the glee in my voice I could muster. Almost before I could finish, Father was beside me. He took me by the hand. One look at his face warned me that something was very wrong. Without a word he signaled to the distressed nurse. Her face was flushed. She marched me to my room and I never ventured one look of triumph as she undressed me. She did not say a word until I was in bed. Then she said, “You were a very naughty girl to worry your Mother so. She was very hurt.” Mother always came to kiss me goodnight. I didn’t stir in my bed lest I should miss her footsteps. Finally I heard her approaching with my sisters; their voices sounded happy. She stopped at the door for only a moment, and Marie entered the room alone. When the nurse turned out the lights, I realized that Mother was not going to kiss me that night. The next morning a penitent little girl asked herself: “Will Mother come to me now?” And: “Will she be cross with me?” I was full of contrition, but how could I express it if Mother were not in a receptive mood? My eyes fastened on the door, hoping to see Mother’s face. Suddenly she appeared. I ran to her and wrapped myself around her neck. I promised never to worry her again. Mother’s daily round took her to the nursery the first thing every morning before breakfast to say a prayer with us children and to read one chapter to us from the Bible. She was usually attired in a beautiful dressing gown of white--occasionally in other soft colors--her hair braided and tied with silk ribbon to match the trimming of her gown, a habit acquired from her grandmother, Queen Victoria of England. These were precious moments to us children. She was a fairytale empress--stately and beautiful. On July 30th, 1904, Russian calendar, August 12th by the new, my little brother was born on a Friday noon. Three hundred guns announced the birth of the heir from the Fortress of Sts. Peter and Paul, in St. Petersburg.