condition of things, and that I looked rather stupid in consequence. Another one said to me: “Madame, we are waiting for deliverance. For two years we have waited. We do not know how it is to come, but we just hope that some morning we may wake up to find the nightmare over.” I said feebly that there had been six years of war, and a blockade, but I felt it was no business of mine to put up a defence for their system. I came home thoroughly depressed and disheartened, having accomplished nothing. At 10 p.m. I was sitting in the gilded drawing-room with Mr. Vanderlip when the telephone rang: it was Kameneff. He announced that he had a room for me at the Kremlin and that I must work there because all the people I had to model were there, and that it was the only way to get them as they were very busy. He promised to send someone for me in the morning to take me there. He asked if I were lonely, resentful, or bored, and pleaded his inability to get to me owing to stress of work. He begged me to be patient and good, and promised that all would come right. I went to bed feeling really better. SEPTEMBER 24TH. Madame Kameneff’s secretary fetched me at 10 a.m. and we found a Comrade waiting for us at the Kremlin gateway. He was a painter, young and bearded, who could speak only Russian. We got our passes to get into the big round building which used to be the Courts of Justice, and where the conferences are now held. It is the chief building, and the Red flag flies above it. Once inside we walked for ever as it seemed, along stone corridors full of busy people. We went to the room of Comrade Unachides, one of the most magnificent men that I have ever seen, a real Mestrovic type, strong features and bushy red hair. Unfortunately he also could only speak Russian. He showed me the room which is placed at my disposal. It is big and nearly empty, semi-circular in shape, with bare white-washed walls. In one corner a formidable iron door with round peep-holes in it leads into a small cell which contains a safe. The safe is sealed up with Soviet seals. The cell, I was told, was a disused prison. This probably accounted for the atmosphere of depression and grimness which persisted in spite of the sunlight which in the afternoon flooded my three big windows. Opposite, across the courtyard, is the Arsenal, and all along the Arsenal walls are ranged the masses of cannon with their “N” surrounded by the laurel wreath, which leaves one in no doubt as to their origin. [Illustration: BIG GUN AT THE KREMLIN.]