I expected a clash. But no! The rifle fell out of Pashinsky's hands and, silent and tamed, with half-closed eyes, he was waiting for another smash. Then Derevenko saw me and thought I was going to shoot him, but I made no such move. I slipped away and went innocently towards the big gate. So, when Pashinsky came to me--he was sure I had seen nothing, and when I asked how the teasing was going on, he answered: "Oh, I let this trash go. It annoys me." The left side of his face was inflamed and tears were frozen on his eyes. It was a good one, by God! After this incident I turned to the quarters "for a drink of water" and wrote a little note that "nothing bad could happen to the Princesses when they were alone" and that, "I shall exert all in my power to prevent any disagreeable happenings." I wrote that I knew some people were working to save them. My letter, I thought, would brace them up and would give them an idea that there was, amongst these beasts--one, that would not be an enemy. In case of a struggle this idea would keep them from losing hope and their power of resistance. Then I added that I could be found in the hotel, and that Dr. Botkin knew me. Contemplating my scratchings, I went over to the window; somebody was patiently waiting and looking around, for the voice said: "I am so glad Derevenko slapped this awful man." "I am too, your Highness. Now--there is a letter. I'll put it on the bayonette and stay still; you take it." Pashinsky passed near me talking with another Red. He felt badly I am sure,--he did not look at me. I rolled the piece of paper, stuck it on the edge of the sharp bayonette and putting the rifle on my shoulder, directed it towards the window. I felt when it was taken. Then I joined my fellow jailers. 48 Today I saw a man who resembled strikingly the Tumen Russian of the profane language. And it reminded me very much of the Ls., of the English officer, of the fellow with dark eyeglasses--and of Lucie. I felt abandoned again. So I went to the Church, but then turned back: I cannot go in, for it might spoil my reputation of a Red. However, I stood for a bit near the doors and listened to the singers, and then decided to go to the Catholic church, for only Russian Reds must not pray; Polish Reds happen to have this privilege. There is no difference in fact. I wanted to be closer to something elevated. The lights were so quiet and peaceful looking in the dark church through high-colored windows. There were not many people in their church, so I could concentrate. But instead of a Christian quiet, I got something else. I guess the idea came to me when I thought that Pashinsky was a Pole.